


iMIL 





Class _QL_7 31. 

Book__ _.rEi..s_ 

Copyright N°_ 

copyright DEPOSIT. 








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THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS. ?"& IO ° 



DOORYARD STORIES 



BY t/ 

CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON 

Author of " Among the Forest People," " Night People," etc. 



Illustrated by F. C. GORDON 




NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 

31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 



THE L BRARY OF 
CONGRESS: 


1 wo Copies 


Received 


APR 24 


1903 


Copyright 
CLASS «- 


Entry 
XXc. No. 


COPY 


8 5 

B. 



Copyright, 1903 

BY 

E. P. DUTTON & CO. 



Published Sept., 1903 



"pfe.3 



Ube ftnfcfterbocfcer press, "Hew jporfc 



••• ••• 






To 
MY FATHER 

WHO FIRST TAUGHT ME TO LOVE 
MY DOORYARD FRIENDS 






PREFACE 

My Dear Little Friends: — These 
stories are of things which I have seen 
with my own eyes in my own yard, and 
the people of whom I write are my friends 
and near neighbors. Some of them, in- 
deed, live under my roof, and Silvertip 
has long been a member of our family. 
So, you see, I have not had to do like 
some writers — sit down and think and 
think how to make the people act in 
their stories. These tales are of things 
which have really happened, and all I 
have done is to write them down for you. 

Many of them have been told over 
and over again to my own little boy, and 
because he never tires of hearing of the 
time when Silvertip was a Kitten, and 



vi Preface 

about the Wasps who built inside my 
shutters, I think you may care to hear 
also. He wants me to be sure to tell 
how the baby Swift tumbled down the 
chimney into his bedroom, and wishes 
you might have seen it in the little nest 
we made. When I tell these tales to 
him, I have great trouble in ending them, 
for there is never a time when he does 
not ask : " And what did he do then 
Mother ? " But I am telling you as much 
as I can of how everything happened, 
and if there was more which I did not 
see and cannot describe, you will have 
to make up the rest to suit yourselves. 

Besides, you know, there is always 
much which one cannot see or hear, 
but which one knows is happening some- 
where in this beautiful great world. The 
birds do not stop living and working and 
loving when they leave us for the sunny 
south, and above us, around us, and even 
under our feet many things are done 



Preface vii 

which we cannot see. As we become 
better acquainted with the little people 
who live in our dooryards, we shall see 
more and more interesting things, and 
I wish you might all grow to be like my 
little boy, who is never lonely or in need 
of a playmate so long as a Caterpillar or 
a Grasshopper is in sight. 

See how many tiny neighbors you have 
around you, and how much you can learn 
about them. Then you will find your 
own dooryard as interesting as mine and 
know that there are playmates every- 
where. 

Your friend, 

Clara D. Pierson. 

Stanton, Michigan, 

October 30, 1902. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

SILVERTIP ....... I 

THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD-HOUSE . . .12 

THE FIR-TREE NEIGHBORS . . . .22 

THE INDUSTRIOUS FLICKERS .... 36 

PLUCKY MRS. POLISTES ..... 48 

SILVERTIP STOPS A QUARREL ... 68 

A YOUNG SWIFT TUMBLES .... 78 

THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS ... 96 

THE SYSTEMATIC YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO . J.08 
THE HELPFUL TUMBLE-BUGS . . . .121 

SILVERTIP LEARNS A LESSON .... 132 

THE ROBINS' DOUBLE BROOD . 145 

THE SPARROWS INSIDE THE EAVES . . . 158 

A RAINY DAY ON THE LAWN .... 173 

THE PERSISTENT PHCEBE . . . 1 83 

THE SAD STORY OF THE HOG CATERPILLAR . 199 
THE CAT AND THE CATBIRD .... 2IO 

THE FRIENDLY BLACKBIRDS . . . . 222 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 

THE KITTEN LAPPED UP HIS MILK . . 6 

THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD HOUSE . . 1 8 

A RED SQUIRREL ATE THEM . . .34 

A VERY CRUEL THING TO DO . 38 

THE CHIMNEY-SWIFT'S HOME. . . .78 

THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS . Frontispiece 100 

STUFFED IT DOWN THE WIDE-OPEN BILL . Il6 * 

MR. CHIPMUNK ON THE WOODPILE . . 142 

"o MOTHER, IT IS RAINING ! " . . . 175 

"YOU DESERVE TO BE EATEN " . . . 2l8 






SILVERTIP 

A VERY small, wet, and hungry Kit- 
** ten pattered up and down a board 
walk one cold and rainy night. His fur 
was so soaked that it dripped water when 
he moved, and his poor little pink-cush- 
ioned paws splashed more water up from 
the puddly boards every time he stepped. 
His tail looked like a wet wisp of fur, 
and his little round face was very sad. 
11 Meouw ! " said he. " Meouw ! Meouw ! " 

He heard somebody coming up the 
street. " I will follow that Gentleman," 
he thought, "and I will cry so that he 
will be sorry for me and give me a 
home." 

When this person came nearer he saw 
that it was not a Gentleman at all, but 



2 Dooryard Stories 

a Lady who could hardly keep from being 
blown away. He could not have seen 
her except that Cat's eyes can see in 
the dark. " Meouw ! " said the Kitten. 
11 Meouw ! Meouw ! " 

" Poor little Pussy ! " said a voice above 
him. " Poor little Pussy ! But you must 
not come with me." 

" Meouw ! " answered he, and trotted 
right along after her. He was a Kitten 
who was not easily discouraged. He 
rubbed up against her foot and made 
her stop for fear of stepping on him. 
Then he felt himself gently lifted up 
and put aside. He scrambled back and 
rubbed against her other foot. And so 
it was for more than two blocks. The 
Lady, as he always called her afterward, 
kept pushing him gently to one side and 
he kept scrambling back. Sometimes 
she even had to stand quite still for fear 
of stepping on him. 

" Meouw ! " said the Kitten, and he 



Silvertip 3 

made up his mind that anybody who 
spoke so kindly to strange Kittens would 
be a good mistress. " I will stick to 
her," he said to himself. " I don't care 
how many times she pushes me away, 
I will scramble back." 

When they turned in at a gate he saw 
a big house ahead of him with many 
windows brightly lighted and another 
light on the porch. " I like that home," 
he said to himself. " I will slip through 
the door when she opens it." 

But after she had turned the key in 
the door she pushed him back and closed 
the screen between them. Then he heard 
her say : " Poor little Pussy ! I want to 
take you in, but we have agreed not 
to adopt another Cat." Then she closed 
the door. 

He wanted to explain that he was not 
really a Cat, only a little Kitten, but he 
had no chance to say anything, so he 
waited outside and thought and cried. 



4 Dooryard Stories 

He did not know that the Lady and her 
husband feared that Cats would eat the 
many birds who nested in the trees on 
the lawn. He thought it very hard luck 
for a tiny Kitten to be left out in the cold 
rain while the Lady was reading by a 
blazing grate fire. He did not know that 
as she sat by the fire she thought about 
him instead of her book, for she loved 
little Kittens, and found it hard to leave 
any out in the street alone. 

While he was thinking and crying, a 
tall Gentleman with a black beard and 
twinkling brown eyes came striding up 
to the brightly lighted porch. " Well, 
Pussy-cat ! " said the Gentleman, and 
took a bunch of shining, jingling things 
out of his pocket and stuck one of them 
into a little hole in the door and turned 
it. Then the door swung open, and the 
Gentleman, who was trying to close his um- 
brella and shake off the rain, called first to 
the Lady and then to the kitten. " O 



Silvertip 5 

Clara ! " he cried. " Come to see this 
poor little Kitten. Here Kitty, Kitty, 
Kitty ! I know you want to see him. 
Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty ! I should have 
thought you would have heard him crying. 
Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty ! " 

The Lady came running out and was 
laughing. " Yes, John," she said, " I have 
had the pleasure of meeting him before. 
He was under my feet most of the way 
home from church to-night, and I could 
hardly bear to leave him outside. But 
you know what we promised each other, 
that we would not adopt another Cat, on 
account of the birds. ,, 

The Gentleman sat down upon the 
stairs and wiped the Kitten off with his 
handkerchief. "Y-yes, I know," he said 
weakly, " but Clara, look at this poor lit- 
tle fellow. He couldn't catch a Chip- 
ping Sparrow." 

" Not now," answered the Lady, " yet 
he will grow, if he is like most Kittens, and 



6 Dooryard Stories 

you know what we said. If we don't 
stick to it we will soon have as many 
Cats as we did a few years ago." 

The Kitten saw that if he wanted to 
stay in this home he must insist upon it 
and be very firm indeed with these peo- 
ple. So he kept on crying and stuck his 
sharp claws into the Gentleman's sleeve. 
The Gentleman said " Ouch ! " and lifted 
him on to his coat lapel. There he clung 
and shook and cried. 

" Well, I suppose we must n't keep him 
then," said he ; " but we will give him a 
warm supper anyway." So they got 
some milk and heated it, and set it in a 
shallow dish before the grate. How that 
Kitten did eat ! The Lady sat on the 
floor beside him, and the Gentleman drew 
his chair up close, and they said that it 
seemed hard to turn him out, but that 
they would have to do it because they 
had promised each other. 

The Kitten lapped up his milk with a 




THE KITTEN LAPPED UP HIS MILK. 



Page 6 



Silvertip 7 

soft click-clicking of his little pink tongue, 
and then turned his head this way and 
that until he had licked all the corners 
clean. He was so full of warm milk that 
his sides bulged out, and his fur had 
begun to dry and stuck up in pointed 
wisps all over him. He pretended to lap 
milk long after it was gone. This was 
partly to show them how well he could 
wash dishes, and partly to put off the 
time when he should be thrust out of 
doors. 

When he really could not make believe 
any longer, his tongue being so tired, he 
began to cry and rub against these two 
people. The Gentleman was the first to 
speak, " I cannot stand this," he said. 
"If he has to go, I want to get it over." 
He picked up the Kitten and took him to 
the door. As fast as he loosened one of 
the Kitten's claws from his coat he stuck 
another one in, and at last the Lady 
had to help get him free. "He is a 



8 Dooryard Stories 

regular Rough Rider," said the Gentle- 
man. " There is no shaking him off." 

The Kitten did n't understand what a 
Rough Rider was, but it did not sound 
like finding a home, so he cried some 
more. Then the door was shut behind 
him and he was alone in the porch. 
" Well," he said, " I like that house and 
those people, even if they did put me out. 
I think I will make them adopt me." So 
he cuddled down in a sheltered, dry corner, 
put his four feet all close together, and 
curled his tail, as far as it would go, around 
them. And there he stayed all night. 

In the morning, when the rain had 
stopped and the sun was shining brightly, 
he trotted around the house and cried. 
He went up on to another porch, rubbed 
against the door and cried. The Maid 
opened the door and put out some milk 
for him. He could see into the warm 
kitchen and smell the breakfast cooking 
on the range. When she came out to 



Silvertip 9 

get the empty dish, he slipped in through 
the open door. She said " Whish !" and 
" Scat ! " and " Shoo ! " and tried to drive 
him out, but he pretended not to under- 
stand and cuddled quietly down in a cor- 
ner where she could not easily reach him. 
Just then some food began to burn on the 
range and the Maid let him alone. The 
Kitten did not cry now. He had other 
work to do, and began licking himself all 
over and scratching his ears with his hind 
feet. 

When he heard the Gentleman and the 
Lady talking in the dining-room, he 
watched his chance and slipped in. He 
decided to pay the most attention to the 
Gentleman, for he had been the first to 
take him up. They were laughing and 
talking and saying how glad they were 
that the rain had stopped falling. " I 
believe, John," the Lady said, " that if it 
had not been for me, you would really 
have kept that Kitten last night." 



io Dooryard Stories 

" Oh, no," answered the Gentleman. 
" We ought not to keep Cats. / think 
that if it had not been for me you would 
have kept him." 

Just at that minute the Kitten began 
climbing up his trousers leg and crying. 
" Poor little Pussy," said the Gentleman. 
" Clara, can't we spare some of this 
cream?" He reached for the pitcher. 
The Kitten began to feel more sure of a 
home. 

"O John, not here?" began the Lady, 
and the Maid came in to explain how it 
all happened. The Kitten stuck his claws 
into the Gentleman's coat and would not 
let go. Then he cried some more and 
waved his tail. He had a very beautiful 
tail, marked just like that of a Raccoon, 
and he turned it toward the Lady. He 
had heard somewhere about putting the 
best foot forward, and thought that a tail 
might do just as well. While he was 
waving his tail at the Lady he rubbed 



Silvertip 1 1 

his head against the Gentleman's black 
beard. 

11 If we should keep him, John," said 
the Lady, "we ought to call him Silver- 
tip, because he has such a pretty white tip 
to his tail." The Kitten waved it again 
and began to purr. 

"If you knew what a strong and fear- 
less fellow he is, you would call him 
Teddy," answered the Gentleman, turning 
over a paper which said in big black let- 
ters, "Our Teddy Wins." 

"Call him Teddy Silvertip then," said 
the Lady, as she reached for the bell. 
When the Maid came in answer to her 
ring, she said, " Belle, please take our 
Kitten into the kitchen and feed him." 
Then the Kitten let go and was carried 
away happy, for he had found a home. 
He had also learned how to manage the 
Lady and the Gentleman, and he was 
always very firm with them after that. 



THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD- 
HOUSE 

TNDER the cornice of the tool-house 
was an old cigar-box with a tiny 
doorway cut in one end and a small board 
nailed in front of it for a porch. This 
had been put up for a bird-house, and 
year after year a pair of Wrens had nested 
there, until they began to think it really 
their own. When they left it in the fall 
to fly south, they always looked back lov- 
ingly at it, and talked over their plans for 
the next summer. 

" I think we might better leave this 
nest inside all winter," Mrs. Wren always 
said. " It will seem so much more home- 
like when we return, and it will not be 
much trouble to clear it out afterward." 

12 



The Fight for the Bird-House 13 

" An excellent plan, my dear," her cheer- 
ful little husband would reply. " You re- 
member we did so last season. Besides," 
he always added, " that will show other 
birds that Wrens have lived here, and 
they will know that we are expecting to 
return, since that is the custom in our 
family." 

11 And then do you think they will leave 
it for us ?" Mrs. Wren would ask. " You 
know they might want it for themselves." 

14 What if they did want it ? " Mr. Wren 
had said. " They could go somewhere 
else, could n't they ? Do you suppose I 
would ever steal another birds nesting- 
place if I knew it ? " 

"N-no," said Mrs. Wren, "but not 
everybody is as unselfish as you." And 
she looked at him tenderly. 

The Wrens were a most devoted 
couple, — all in all, about the nicest birds 
on the place. And that was saying a 
great deal, for there were many nesting 



14 Dooryard Stories 

there and others who came to find food 
on the broad lawn. They were small 
birds, wearing dark brown feathers on 
the upper parts of their bodies and 
lighter grayish ones underneath. Even 
their bills were marked in the same way, 
with the upper half dark and the lower 
half light. Their wings were short and 
blunt, and they had a habit of holding 
their tails well up in the air. 

People said that Mrs. Wren was very 
fussy, and perhaps it was true, but even 
then she was not a cross person. Be- 
sides, if she wished to do a thing over 
five times in order to make it suit her, 
she certainly had a perfect right to do so. 
It was she who always chose the nesting- 
place and settled all the plans for the 
family. Mr. Wren was quite content to 
have it so, since that was the custom 
among Wrens, and it saved him much 
work. Mr. Wren was not lazy. H& sim- 
ply wanted to save time for singing, 



The Fight for the Bird-House 15 

which he considered his own particular 
business. Besides, he never forgot what 
had happened to a cousin of his, a young 
fellow who found fault with his wife and 
insisted on changing to another nesting- 
place. It had ended in his going, and 
her staying there and marrying another 
Wren. So he had lost both his home 
and his wife by finding fault. 

Now the April days had come, with 
their warm showers and green growing 
grass. A pair of English Sparrows, who 
had nested in the woodbine the summer 
before and raised several large broods of 
bad-mannered children, decided that they 
would like to try living in the bird-house. 
Having been on the place all winter, they 
began work early. The Blackbirds were 
already back, and one reminded them that 
it belonged to the Wrens. 

" Guess not now," said Mr. Sparrow, 
with a bad look in his eyes. " Nothing 
belongs to anybody else if I want it. Do 



1 6 Dooryard Stones 

you see ? " Then he picked up and swal- 
lowed a fat Grub which the Blackbird 
had uncovered for himself and left lying 
there until he should finish talking. One 
could hardly blame the Blackbird for be- 
ing vexed about this, for everybody knows 
that English Sparrows really prefer seeds, 
and that this one ate the Grub only to be 
mean. It did not make the Blackbird 
any happier to hear his relatives laugh at 
him in the evergreens above, and he made 
up his mind to get even with that Sparrow. 
The Sparrows pitched all the old nest 
out of doors and began quarrelling with 
each other about building their own. 
They always quarrelled. Indeed, that was 
the way in which they had courted each 
other. Mrs. Sparrow had two lovers, and 
she married the one who would stand the 
worst pecking from her. " For," she 
said, "what is the use of having a hus- 
band unless you can beat him when you 
fight with him ? " 



The Fight for the Bird-House 17 

Now they stuffed the dainty little bird- 
house full of straws, sticks, feathers, and 
anything they could find, until there was 
hardly room left in which to turn around. 
They were just beginning to wonder if 
they must throw some out when they 
heard the happy song of Mr. Wren. 

"Get inside!" cried Mr. Sparrow to 
his wife. " I will stand on the porch and 
fight them." 

Down flew Mr. and Mrs. Wren. " Oh, 
is n't it pleasant to get home again ? " she 
exclaimed. " But what is that Sparrow 
doing on our porch ? " 

"This is our home now," said Mrs. 
Sparrow, "and we are very busy. Get 
out of my way." 

" Your home ? " cried the Wrens. " How 
is that? You lived in the woodbine last 
season and knew that this was ours. You 
are surely not in earnest." 

Mr. Wren looked at his wife and she 
nodded. Then he flew at Mr. Sparrow 



1 8 Dooryard Stories 

and they fought back and forth on the 
grape trellis near by them, in the air, then 
on the ground. Mrs. Sparrow peeped 
out of the open door to see if her hus- 
band needed help. He was the larger of 
the two, but not so quick in darting and 
turning. Now they passed out of sight 
behind the tool-house and she forgot Mrs. 
Wren and flew down to see better. She 
was hardly off the tiny porch when Mrs. 
Wren darted in. Mrs. Sparrow saw when 
it was too late what a mistake she had 
made, and tried to get back. She reached 
the porch again just in time to have a lot 
of straws, twigs, and feathers poked into 
her face by the angry Mrs. Wren. 

" I am cleaning house," said Mrs. Wren. 
" My house, too ! Get out of my way ! " 
Then she pushed out more of the same 
sort of stuff. Mrs. Sparrow tried to get 
in, and every time she put her head 
through the doorway she was pecked by 
Mrs. Wren. And she deserved it. She 




THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD HOUSE. 



Page 18 



The Fight for the Bird-House 19 

called Mr. Sparrow, but he could not 
help her, and Mr. Wren was so pleased 
that he sat on top of the tool-house and 
sang and sang and sang. To look at 
him you would have thought he was 
trying to kill himself. He puffed up his 
throat and swelled up his body and sang 
so fast that he seemed to be saying about 
four words at a time. 

11 Good for you ! Good for you ! Good 
for you ! " he sang. " Stick to it ! Stick 
to it ! Stick to it ! I 'm here ! I 'm here ! 
I 'm here, here, here ! " 

Mrs. Wren was too busy to say much, 
but she did a great deal. Every scrap 
of the nest was thrown out, and as she 
worked she decided to keep that house 
if she starved there. 

This was in the middle of the morning 
and she could not get out to feed until 
late in the afternoon. Mr. Wren found 
some delicious insects on the grapevines, 
and tried to carry a few billfuls to his 



20 Dooryard Stories 

wife, but the Sparrows prevented him. 
He would have enjoyed his own dinner 
better if she could have eaten with him. 
When he asked how she was, she chirped 
back that she was hungry but would not 
give up. Mr. Wren spent most of his 
time walking around the roof of the tool- 
house in circles, dragging his wings on 
the shingles, and saying, " Tr-r-r-r-r-r ! " 
He was so angry that sometimes he could 
not say anything else. The Sparrows sat 
on the grape trellis and said mean things. 

They were still doing this late in the 
afternoon, while the tree shadows grew 
longer and longer on the lawn with the 
lowering of the sun. Suddenly a Black- 
bird alighted on the trellis. It was the 
same one whose fat Grub Mr. Sparrow 
had stolen 

" This has gone far enough," said he. 
"This house belongs to the Wrens and 
they are going to have it. / say so. If 
I catch either of you Sparrows around 



The Fight for the Bird-House 21 

here again, I will drive you off the place. 
I can do it, too. You may think it over 
until the next time that grapevine is 
blown against the tool-house. If you do 
not go then, there will be trouble" He 
ruffled up his feathers and glared with 
his yellow eyes. That was all he had 
to do. Before the grapevine swayed 
again, the Sparrows were far away. 

The Wrens thanked him, even before 
Mrs. Wren ate her late dinner. " You 
are welcome," he said. " It was just fun 
for me. I cannot bear those Sparrows, 
and I hoped they would stay and give 
me a chance to fight them. How I wish 
they had stayed!" He looked sad and 
disappointed. 

" I '11 never have another such good 
chance," said he. And he never did. 
Perhaps it was just as well, although 
there are times when it is not wrong to 
fight, and the Wrens think this would 
have been one. 



THE FIR-TREE NEIGHBORS 



"\ 71 TITH so many trees in the yard, it 
always seemed a little strange that 
three families should choose to build so 
close together in one. Still, it must also 
be remembered that there were many 
birds who liked to build near the big- 
house, and thought of that yard as home. 

The Lady spoke of this tree as " The 
Evergreen Apartment House." The birds 
simply called it " The Tallest Fir Tree." 

Early in the spring a pair of English 
Sparrows decided to build there. Per- 
haps one should say that Mrs. Sparrow 
decided, since her husband had nothing 
to say about it, except to murmur " Yes, 
dear," when she told him of her choice. 
They built well up in the tree, and had a 



22 



The Fir-Tree Neighbors 23 

big mass of hay, grass, and feathers to- 
gether there when the Blackbirds came. 
This would have more than made a nest 
for most birds. Mrs. Sparrow called it 
only a beginning, and was always looking 
for more to add to it. 

When the Blackbirds came in a dash- 
ing flock, they began hunting for build- 
ing places and talking it all over among 
themselves. One mother Blackbird, who 
had nested on the place the year before, 
had counted on having that particular 
tree. 

" I decided on it last fall," said she, 
" before I went South, and I have been 
planning for it all winter. I shall build 
in it just the same." She shut her bill in 
such a way that nobody could doubt her 
meaning exactly what she said. Her hus- 
band did n't like the place particularly 
well, but she said something to him which 
settled it. " You need not ruffle up your 
feathers for me," she said, " or stand on 



24 Dooryard Stories 

tip-toe to squeak at me, unless you are 
willing to live there." 

They built higher than the nest of the 
English Sparrows. " We have always been 
well up in the world," she said, " and we 
do not care to come down now." That 
was all right. One could not blame them 
for feeling above the English Sparrows. 

The English Sparrows had added more 
stuff to what they had, and the Black- 
birds had their nest about half done when 
a pair of Hairbirds came to look for a 
comfortable tree. They were a young 
couple, just married that spring, and very, 
devoted to each other. They did not de- 
cide matters in the same way as the Eng- 
lish Sparrow, and the Blackbirds. 

Although there were eleven other great 
evergreens in the yard, besides a number 
of trellises covered with vines, and all the 
vine-covered porches, there was no place 
which suited them so well as that particu- 
lar tree. Yet each was so eager to please 



The Fir-Tree Neighbors 25 

the other that it was rather hard to get 
either to say what he really thought. 
They perched on the tips of the fir 
branches and chattered and twittered all 
morning about it. 

" What do you think ?" Mrs. Hairbird 
said. 

" What do you ? " he replied. 

" But I want to know what you think," 
she insisted. 

" And I would rather know what you 
think," said he. 

11 No, but really," asked she, " do you 
like this tree?" 

" Do you ?" asked Mr. Hairbird. 

" Yes, yes," answered she. 

" So do I ! " he said, with a happy twit- 
ter. " Is n't it queer how we always like 
the same things ? " 

" I wonder if we like the same branch ? " 
said Mrs. Hairbird, after a long pause, in 
which both picked insects off the fir-tree 
and ate them. 



26 Dooryard Stories 

" Which branch do you like?" asked 
he. But he could not help looking out 
of the side of his eye at the one he most 
fancied. He could not look out of the 
corner of his eye, you know, because 
round eyes have no corners, and being a 
bird his eyes were perfectly round. 

11 1 like that one," she cried, and laughed 
to think how easily she had found out 
his choice. Then he laughed, too, and it 
was all decided, although Mrs. English 
Sparrow, fussing around in her mass of 
hay and feathers above them, declared 
that she never heard such silliness in her 
life, and that when she had made up 
her own mind that was enough. She 
never bothered her husband with ques- 
tions. Mr. English Sparrow heard her 
say this, and thought he would rather 
like to be bothered in that way. 

Mrs. Blackbird thought it all a great 
joke. " When they have been married as 
long as I have," she said, " it wont take so 



The Fir-Tree Neighbors 27 

long to decide things." Mrs. Blackbird 
laughed at everything, but she was mis- 
taken about this, for the Hairbirds, or 
Chipping Sparrows, as they are some- 
times called, are always devoted and 
unselfish. 

It being the custom in their family, the 
newcomers built quite low in the tree. 
Such a happy time as they had. Every 
bit of grass root which either of them 
dragged loose and brought to the tree, 
was the prettiest and stoutest and best 
they had ever seen. And when it got to 
the Horsehairs for lining, they visited 
all the barns for a block around, hunting 
for them. Once, when Mrs. Hairbird 
wished for a white hair for one particu- 
lar place, Mr. Hairbird even watched for 
a white Horse, and pulled it out of his 
tail. 

You can imagine how surprised the 
Horse was when he felt that little tweak 
at his tail, and, looking around, saw a 



28 Dooryard Stories 

small brown bird pulling at one of his 
longest hairs. " I am sorry to annoy 
you," said this bird, "but Mrs. Hairbird 
needed a white hair." 

"That is all right," said the Horse, to 
whom one hair was a very small matter, 
and who dearly loved a joke. " Please 
tell Mrs. Hairbird that my tail is hers if 
she wishes it." 

" Your tail is hers ! " exclaimed Mr. 
Hairbird, who ought to have seen the 
joke, since he was not an English Spar- 
row. " Oh, no, surely not ! Surely your 
tail is not her tail. They are quite differ- 
ent, you know ! " Then he understood and 
hurried away, but not in time to help 
hearing the Horse laugh. 

When the white hair was woven in, the 
nest was done, and Mrs. Hairbird laid in 
it four greenish blue eggs with dark 
brown specks. In the nest above were 
six greenish white ones with brown and 
light purple spots. In the nest above 



The Fir-Tree Neighbors 29 

that were five dingy streaked and speckled 
ones. Mrs. Hairbird said that hers were 
by far the prettiest. " It is not because I 
laid them," she said to her husband. " It 
is not for that reason that I think so, but 
they really are." 

Mr. and Mrs. Hairbird were the only 
ones who paid for the chance to build in 
the tree. They picked insects off the 
branches, insects that would have robbed 
the tree of some of its strength. 

The Blackbirds would not bother with 
such small bits of food. The English 
Sparrows should have paid in the same 
way, but they would not. 

Their great-great-great- —a great many 

times great grandparents were brought 

over to this country just to eat the in- 
sects which were hurting the trees and 
shrubs, but when they got here they 
would not do it. " No, indeed," said they ; 
" we are here now, and we will eat what 
we choose." Their great-great-great 



30 Dooryard Stories 

a great many times great grandchild- 

dren were just like them. 

Silvertip often came to sit under this 
tree. He called it a family tree, because 
it had so many little families in its 
branches. He could not climb it. The 
fine branches and twigs were so close 
together that he could not get up the 
trunk, and they were not strong enough for 
him to step from one to another of them. 

As might perhaps have been expected, 
there was some gossipping among neigh- 
bors in this tree. The Blackbirds usually 
climbed to their nest by beginning at the 
bottom of the trunk and going around 
and around it to the top. This took 
them so close to the other nests that they 
could not help looking in. At any rate, 
they did n't help it. 

Mrs. Blackbird told Mrs. Hairbird 
that the way Mrs. Sparrow kept house 
was a disgrace to the tree. Mrs. Sparrow 
told her to be very careful not to leave 



The Fir-Tree Neighbors 31 

her eggs or young children alone when 
the Blackbirds were around, because 
when they were very hungry they had 

been known to ! She did not finish 

her sentence in words, but just ruffled up 
her feathers and fluttered her wings, 
which was a great deal meaner. If she 
were going to say such things about peo- 
ple, you know, she should have said 
them, and not made Mrs. Hairbird guess 
the worst part. 

Mr. Blackbird said he pitied Mr. Spar- 
row with all his heart. He knew some- 
thing what it was to have a wife try to 
run things, but that if Mrs. Blackbird 
had ever acted as Mrs. Sparrow did, he 
would leave her, even if it were in the 
early spring. 

Mr. Sparrow said it was most disagree- 
able to have such noisy neighbors as the 
Blackbirds overhead. That if his wife 
had known they were coming to that tree, 
she would have chosen another place. 



32 Dooryard Stories 

" Of course it was too late for her to 
change when she found it out," he said. 
" Her nest was well begun, and she had 
some very choice straws and feathers 
which she didn't care to move. You 
know how such things get spoiled in car- 
rying them from place to place." 

Most of these things were told to Mrs. 
Hairbird, because she was at home with 
the eggs, but she repeated them all to her 
husband when he came. She even told 
him how Mr. Sparrow flew down one day 
just after a quarrel with his wife, and of 
all the things he had said when angry. It 
was quite right in Mrs. Hairbird to tell her 
husband, and yet she never chirped them 
to another bird. And that also was right. 

When people talked these things to 
her, she always looked bright and pleas- 
ant, but she did not talk about them her- 
self. Indeed, she often made excuses for 
her neighbors when she repeated things 
to her husband. For instance, when she 



The Fir-Tree Neighbors 33 

told what Mrs. Sparrow had said about 
Mrs. Blackbird, she added : " I suppose 
that may be so, still I feel sure that Mrs. 
Blackbird would not eat any of our chil- 
dren unless she were dreadfully hungry." 

You can see what a sweet and wise 
little person Mrs. Hairbird was, and her 
husband was exactly like her. No mat- 
ter how other people quarrelled, they did 
not. No matter what gossip they heard, 
they did not repeat it. And it ended just 
as such things always do. 

In late spring, about the time that the 
Bees were gathering varnish for their 
homes, and every fir-tree tip had one or 
two buzzing around it, there was a dread- 
ful quarrel in the family tree. Mrs. Spar- 
row wanted some grasses from the outside 
of the Blackbirds* nest, and she sat on her 
own and looked at them until she felt she 
could not live without them. Of course, 
that was very wrong. She might have 

forgotten all about them if she had made 
3 



34 Dooryard Stories 

herself think about something else. Any 
bird who wants something he ought not 
to have should do that. She might bet- 
ter have looked down at her own breast, 
or counted her wing feathers over and 
over. However, she did n't. She took 
those grasses. 

Mrs. Blackbird missed them, and then 
saw them woven loosely into the nest be- 
low hers. She did not say much, and she 
did not eat the eggs out of the Sparrows' 
nest. Some people said that she ate 
them, but that was a mistake. All that 
she did was to sit very quietly on her 
nest while a Red Squirrel ate them. 
When this same fellow would have eaten 
those in the nest below, both the Hairbirds 
being away, she drove him off herself. 

You can imagine what the Sparrows 
said when they returned. Or perhaps 
you might better not try to, for they said 
very cross things. Then Mrs. Blackbird 
told what she thought about those stolen 




A RED SQUIRREL ATE THEM. 



Page 34 



The Fir-Tree Neighbors 35 

grasses, and her husband joined in, until 
there was more noise than a flock of 
Crows would make. 

It ended in Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow tear- 
ing down that nest and building another 
in the woodbine, where most of their rela- 
tives lived. Some of their neighbors 
thought the Blackbirds right and some 
thought the Sparrows right, but through 
it all Mr. and Mrs. Hairbird were happy 
and contented, and brought up their four 
charming children to be as good birds as 
they were themselves. 

The Sparrows often said that the worst 
thing about going away from the family 
tree was leaving the Hairbirds, who were 
such delightful neighbors. The Black- 
birds said that the pleasantest thing about 
the tree was having the Hairbirds for 
neighbors. The Hairbirds were liked by 
everybody, and never made trouble be- 
tween friends. It was all because they knew 
how and when to keep their bills shut 



THE INDUSTRIOUS FLICKERS 



TF the Bad Boy who lived in the next 
block had known more about the 
habits of Flickers, there would probably 
have been no young ones to feed on the 
lawn of the big house. He had watched 
Mr. and Mrs. Flicker in the spring when 
they were making their nest ready, and 
had waited only long enough for the eggs 
to be laid before climbing the tall Lorn- 
bardy poplar to rob it. 

You must not think that Mr. and Mrs. 
Flicker were stupid in showing the Bad 
Boy where their nest was. There was 
never a more careful couple, but they 
were so large and handsome that, if they 
went anywhere at all, they were sure to 
be seen. After they had once been seen, 

36 



The Industrious Flickers $J 

it was easy for any one with plenty of time 
to watch and follow them home. 

Mr. Flicker was clad mostly in golden 
brown, barred with black. He had a 
very showy black spot on his breast, 
which was just the shape of a new moon, 
black patches on his cheeks and smaller 
ones on his belly. The linings of his 
wings, and the quills of his long wing- and 
tail-feathers were a bright yellow, and on 
the back of his head he had a beautiful 
red band. All these were very fine, but 
the most surprising thing was a large 
patch of pure white feathers on the lower 
part of his back. These did not show 
except when he was flying. At other 
times his folded wings quite hid them 
from sight. Mrs. Flicker looked so much 
like her husband that you could not tell 
one from the other, unless you were near 
enough to see their cheeks. Then you 
would know, for Mrs. Flicker had no 
black spots on hers. 



38 Dooryard Stories 

When the Bad Boy was sure that the 
nest was high up in the trunk of the old 
Lombardy poplar, just across the street 
from the big house, he waited until his 
mother and his big sister were out of the 
way, and then he climbed that tree and 
took the six white eggs out of it. That 
was a very, very cruel thing to do. It 
would have been bad enough to take one, 
but to take all six was a great deal worse. 
You will not pity the Bad Boy when you 
know that he tore his trousers and hurt 
one hand on his way down. 

Poor Mrs. Flicker cried herself to 
sleep that night. " If we had not been 
careful," she sobbed, " I would n't feel so 
badly, but to have it happen after all 
the trouble we took ! I am sure that 
when we cut the hole for our nest, not 
a single chip fell to the ground below. 
We carried them all far away before 
dropping them. 

" Excepting the ones we left for the 




A VERY CRUEL THING TO DO. 



Page 38 



The Industrious Flickers 39 

eggs to lie on," added Mr. Flicker, who 
was always particular and exact in what 
he said, even when in great trouble. 

"Yes, excepting those," sobbed his 
poor wife. " I left a few of the best 
ones inside." 

" I wonder where the eggs are now," 
said Mr. Flicker. He looked toward the 
Bad Boy's home as he spoke. If he had 
but known it, the Bad Boy had not one 
left. Two had been broken in coming 
down the tree (for his mouth had not 
been big enough to carry all six), three 
he had traded for marbles, and the last 
one, which he meant to keep for a 
"specimen," had rolled off his desk in 
school and smashed on the floor. The 
Bad Boy had been kept in at recess for 
this, but that did not make the egg whole 
again. 

The Flickers went sadly to sleep, and 
dreamed of a land where Birds were as 
big as Cows and Boys as small as Gold- 



40 Dooryard Stories 

finches — where boys were afraid of birds 
and hid when they saw them coming. 

When the morning sunshine awakened 
them and they had breakfasted well, Mrs. 
Flicker began to feel more hopeful. " I 
am really ashamed of myself," she said, 
" for being so discouraged. There would 
be some excuse for it if I were another 
kind of bird, but since I am a Flicker 
and can lay more eggs whenever my 
nest is robbed, I think I 'd better stop 
crying and plan for six more." 

" My brave wife!" exclaimed Mr. 
Flicker. " You are quite right. It is 
all very sad, but we will make the best 
of it and try to be happy." 

The Bad Boy passed under the tree 
more than twenty times before the second 
lot of eggs were hatched, and he wished 
and wished for a Flicker's egg (only he 
called them High Holes, because they 
built in high holes). He never guessed 
that in the nest above his head lay six 



The Industrious Flickers 41 

more just as fine as the ones he had 
stolen. It is not strange that he did not, 
for who but a Flicker can lay and lay and 
lay eggs when her nest is robbed ? 

Now the young Flickers were hatched 
and ready to leave their comfortable home. 
They were much more helpless than most 
young birds are when they leave the nest. 
In fact, they could hardly fly at all, and 
had to tumble and sprawl their way to 
the ground, catching here and there in 
the branches of the poplar. Her neigh- 
bors thought Mrs. Flicker quite heartless 
to let them go so soon, but when she told 
them what a care her six nestlings were, 
they felt differently about it. 

" Did you ever hear of such a thing ? " 
exclaimed Mrs. Catbird, who thought 
herself quite overworked in caring for 
her six, and who had only known Flickers 
by sight before this. I- Did you ever 
hear of such a thing ? She tells me that 
she and Mr. Flicker not only have to 



42 Dooryard Stories 

find all the food for their children, but 
have to eat it for them also. I remem- 
ber the Mourning Doves doing that, but 
then, they never have more than two 
children at a time, so it is not so hard." 

"What is that?" asked a Blackbird, 
who, like the rest of her family, always 
wanted to know about everything. 

11 Why," repeated Mrs. Catbird, " the 
Flickers have to eat all the food they 
get for their children, and then, when it 
has become soft and ready for young 
birds, they unswallow it into their chil- 
dren's bills. It takes so much time to do 
this and to fly back and forth that they 
want to have them out of the nest as 
soon as possible. Then they can take 
them around with them." 

You can imagine how anxious the pa- 
rents were for a few days, while their six 
babies were still so awkward and helpless. 
They took them across the street to the 
lawn around the big house, and tucked 



The Industrious Flickers 43 

them away in dusky places where their 
brown feathers would not show against 
anything light. Most of them were un- 
der the edge of a board walk, one was 
under a porch, and one was under a low 
branching evergreen. Mrs. Robin, who 
was then hatching her second brood, kept 
watch for Silvertip, and this was a great 
help to the Flickers on the ground below. 

First one and then another of the 
young Flickers went out with one of the 
parents, and it was most interesting to 
see them fed. The Flickers, you know, 
are woodpeckers, and their long bills are 
slender, curved, and pointed, just right 
for picking Grubs and nice fat little Bugs 
out of tree-bark. Their tails, also, are 
stiff and right to prop them as they 
work up and around the trunk of a tree. 
Still, they feed on the ground more than 
on trees, and like Ants better than any- 
thing else in the world. 

Now, one could see Mr. Flicker by an 



44 Dooryard Stories 

Ant-hill with a nestling beside him, his 
head going up and down like a hammer, 
and an Ant picked up in his bill at every 
stroke. Every now and then he would 
stop, turn his head, place his bill in that 
of his child, and unswallow some Ants, 
which the nestling would gulp down. 
Between feedings the nestling would set- 
tle his head between his shoulders, and 
slide his thin eyelids over his eyes. He 
never slid his thick eyelids over. He 
saved those for night, when he would 
really sleep. 

While the father was feeding one, the 
mother would be feeding another. When 
these two were satisfied they were sent 
back to their hiding-places and two more 
had their turns. It was very hard work, 
in spite of their being so good. They 
never fussed or teased. They waited pa- 
tiently for their turns and found no fault 
with the food. 

"Oh," said Mrs. Flicker to her hus- 



The Industrious Flickers 45 

band, as she swallowed the six hundred- 
and-forty-eighth Ant since sunrise. " I 
am so tired that I feel like giving up. If 
it were not for you and the children, I be- 
lieve I would just as soon let that Cat 
catch me as not." 

11 1 know," he answered. " I am very 
tired myself, and I am sure you must be 
more so. You do not seem strong since 
you were shut in so long while brooding 
the eggs." 

11 It is easier in one way, now that all 
are out of the nest," said she. " It saves 
my wings a great deal, but my neck and 
throat ache from such steady work. I 
used to rather enjoy eating for myself. 
The food tasted good, and it was some- 
thing pleasant to do. This eating for a 
whole family is quite different." 

11 Well, it won't last much longer," her 
husband said comfortingly. " The chil- 
dren will soon be able to feed themselves, 
and you can have a good rest. Then we 



46 Dooryard Stories 

will go picnicking in the fields beyond 
this place, and every one shall get his 
own lunch/' 

In a few more days they did this, and 
for three mornings they might have been 
seen, in a happy party of eight, walking 
around together, quite as Pigeons do. 
At the end of the third day, Mr. Flicker 
said to his wife : " Well, my dear, are you 
having a good time ? This is a pleas- 
ant change from caring for the children, 
is n't it?" 

To his surprise, she turned her head 
away and did not answer. When he re- 
peated his questions, she replied with a 
little choke in her voice. " It is very 
easy," she said, "and a great rest, but it 
seems to me I have nothing to do. I eat 
all I can and try to swallow slowly, but when 
my stomach is full I have to just walk 
around. I miss the children putting their 
dear little bills up to mine and taking 
food from me. I believe I am lonely." 



The Industrious Flickers 47 

Poor Mr. Flicker was young and in- 
experienced. He did not know how 
quickly some people change their minds, 
or how mothers miss the care of children. 

" Is n't there something you can do," 
he asked, "to make you happier?" 

" Could you help me clean out our old 
hole in the Lombardy poplar ? " said she. 
" I believe I will lay some more eggs." 

" What ? " cried her husband. " When 
you have been so tired ? And then you 
will be shut in so long while brooding them. 
Why not fly off on a pleasure trip with me ?" 

" I will," said she. " I 'd love to go. 
But let us get the nest all ready first." 

Mr. Flicker was young and inexpe- 
rienced, as has been said before, yet he 
flew right off to work on that nest and let 
his wife do exactly as she chose. Which 
shows that, although she did change her 
mind and he could not understand why, 
they were a very happy and sensible 
couple, after all. 



PLUCKY MRS. POLISTES 

A A RS. POLISTES was a charming lit- 
* * tie widow, who had slept through the 
long, cold winter, snugly tucked away in 
a crack in the barn belonging to the big 
house. She had married late in the fall, 
but her husband was a lazy fellow who 
had soon left her, and sat around in the 
sunshine with his brothers and the other 
fellows whom he knew. Each sat in his 
own little spot, and at last died because 
he was so lazy. That is the way with 
many insects who will not work. They 
die, and the members of their families 
who keep busy live to a good old age. 

Now it was spring, and Mrs. Polistes 
awakened happy and full of plans. You 
must not think her hard-hearted to be 

4 8 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 49 

happy after her husband was dead. If he 
had been a different sort of a fellow, you 
know, she would have missed him more. 
As it was, she did not even think of mar- 
rying again, but set to work to build her 
home and bring up her children to be 
good and industrious Wasps like herself. 

She asked another young widow to work 
with her, and together they flew around 
hunting for a good building-place. They 
talked first of hanging their nest from the 
branch of a bush, but both were very care- 
ful Wasps and preferred to be sheltered 
from rain-storms. (Some of their family, 
however, did choose to build on bushes). 
Next they flew into the ice-house and tried 
several of the corners there. Mrs. Polistes 
did most of the talking, being a Wasp of 
very decided opinions. 

" It is too chilly here," she said. " I 
should never feel like myself in such a cold 
place. And you know perfectly well," 
she added, "that if anybody should dis- 



50 Dooryard Stories 

turb us in here, we would not be warm 
enough to sting. Or if we did sting, we 
could never pump much poison in." 

There was nothing to be said after that, 
for everybody knows that unless a Wasp 
can sting, and sting hard, he is not safe. 

Then they looked at the porch ceilings. 
Their cousins, the Vespae, had started 
some nests there, and they preferred not 
to be too near them. The Vespae were 
very good Wasps, but, as Mrs. Polistes 
said, " We wish to bring our children up to 
be Polistes Wasps, and if they see the way 
in which the Vespae live, they will get 
their ideas all mixed. I do not think it 
wise to rear them within sight of covered 
nests, and you know as well as I [this was 
to her friend] how the Vespae wall around 
their cells." 

After this they found what they thought 
a most delightful place. It was just inside 
the closed shutters of a bedroom window. 
The upper sash of the window was low- 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 51 

ered, and inside of that was a fine wire 
netting. " Excellent ! " said the friend. 
11 That is probably there to keep the peo- 
ple inside from coming out this way." 

Mrs. Polistes was not quite sure that 
the netting was there for that reason, but 
she liked the place, so they flew off to- 
gether to the stump-fence which enclosed 
the great field back of the house. Then 
they looked for an old stump, sat down 
on one of its prongs, and began to gnaw 
off wood fibre. They did not talk much, 
for they had to work so hard with their 
mouths. Each gnawed length-wise of the 
grain until she had a little bundle of wood 
fibre in her jaws. When these were 
ready, they flew off to their chosen spot 
and began to build. First it had to be 
chewed for a long time, until it was soft 
and pulpy, then, working together and 
very carefully, they built a slender, stem- 
like thing down from the top of the win- 
dow casing. 



52 Dooryard Stories 

It took many trips to bring enough 
wood fibre for this, and between trips 
they had to stop for food. It took longer 
to find it so early in the season than it 
would later, for Flies and insects of all 
kinds were scarce and there were not 
many flowers yet. Some of those which 
looked most tempting were for Bees, and 
not for Wasps. The Wasps, you know, 
have such short tongues that they cannot 
get the honey from most flowers. That 
is why they so like the flat-topped ones 
and the shallow ones into which they can 
reach easily. Mrs. Polistes and her friend 
at last found a bed of sweet clover which 
made them fine meals. 

That first day they only chose the 
place for their home and got the stem 
ready, but it was not long before they had 
three tiny cells begun and eggs in two of 
them. Mrs. Polistes and the home- 
makers of her family always insisted upon 
doing in this way. 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 53 

" It not only saves time," said Mrs. 
Polistes, to "have several kinds of work 
going at once, but it rests one, too. 
When my jaws are tired of chewing wood 
fibre or shaping it into cells, I rest my- 
self by laying an egg. And when my 
sting is tired from that, I hunt food for 
myself and the babies. There is nothing 
like having a change of work." 

Mrs. Polistes spoke in this way about 
her sting, you understand, because it was 
her ovipositor, or egg-layer, as well. She 
really used it in this way much more than 
the other. She did not wish to sting 
with it any more than she had to. It 
tired her very much to pump poison 
through it when she stung. There was 
always the danger, too, if she stung a 
large creature, like a boy, of getting it 
stuck in him and not being able to pull 
it out without breaking. If it broke, she 
would die. 

Mrs. Polistes and her friends took turns 



54 Dooryard Stories 

in laying eggs, and soon had to begin an- 
other row of cells around the first. They 
laid their oblong white eggs in them 
long before the cells were done, and had 
to stick them up to the side walls to keep 
them from falling out of the opening at 
the bottom. Then, when they had time, 
they lowered the walls of the cells. When 
the babies hatched, which was only a few 
days after the laying of the eggs, they 
brought food and fed them as they hung 
in their cells. 

The Lady who lived in the big house 
watched this very often, and Mrs. Polistes 
and her friend became so used to it that 
they were not at all frightened or dis- 
turbed. Wasps, you know, are very easily 
tamed by any one who moves gently. The 
Lady stood on a chair just inside the win- 
dow, and put her face close to the screen. 
She could see exactly how the mother 
Wasps bit the cell walls into shape, mov- 
ing backward all the time. She could see 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 55 

Mrs. Polistes and her friend bring nicely 
chewed-up Flies and other insects with 
which to feed the babies, and watched 
them go quietly from cell to cell, giving 
a lunch to each. 

They were very interesting babies. 
Being still fastened to the cell wall by 
the tail end, only their heads showed, 
tiny white heads with two little eyes and 
brown, horny jaws. Sometimes, when 
Mrs. Polistes and her friend were away, 
the Lady would softly lower the screen 
from the top of the window and touch 
the nest very, very gently with her pencil. 
Then each baby thought it was his mother 
or his aunt, and thrust his tiny head out 
for food. Perhaps this was not kind to 
the Wasp babies, but if the Lady made 
them and their mother amuse her, she 
was also very careful about worrying 
them. The older Wasps never found out 
that the screen had been moved, and the 
Lady told everybody in the house that 



56 Dooryard Stories 

the upper window sash must not be put 
up. She feared that it would strike the 
outer cells and loosen the nest if raised. 

All would have gone well if it had not 
been for that dreadful thunderstorm just 
before daylight one morning. The Gen- 
tleman found the raindrops blowing in 
through the bedroom window, and got it 
almost closed before he remembered the 
Wasps' nest. Then he lowered the upper 
sash again and left it down, in spite of the 
rain. 

Sad to say, when morning came the 
dainty little nest lay on the top edge of 
the upper sash. It had been loosened 
but not crushed, and had fallen on to the 
only place it could. Mrs. Polistes and 
her friend were flying in and out with 
food for the babies, who were now all 
tilted up sidewise, instead of hanging 
head downward, as Wasp babies should. 

" I don't understand it at all," said the 
friend. " Everything is exactly as it was 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 57 

when we went to sleep, except that the 
nest has fallen." 

" I was dreaming as I hung on the nest 
last night," replied Mrs. Polistes, "when 
suddenly I felt a great jar and was knocked 
off." 

11 So was I," exclaimed her friend. 

" I flew around in the dark until I 
found it again," added Mrs. Polistes, "but 
I had to wait until daylight to see what 
had happened. Oh, dear ! It is so up- 
setting to find one's home upside down, 
and two of my children are just ready to 
spin their cocoons." 

" Your children ? " asked her friends 
quite sharply, for it made her cross to 
have such misfortunes. "Your children ? 
One of those children is mine." 

"Which one?" asked Mrs. Polistes, 
who thought she remembered her own 
egg-laying. 

" I don't know which, now that the nest 
is all turned around," was the answer. 



58 Dooryard Stones 

" It has mixed those babies up, and I 
can't pick out mine." 

" Well, it does n't really matter," said 
Mrs. Polistes kindly. " You may call 
them both yours, if you want to. Just 
laying the egg doesn't count for much, 
and we have both fed and cared for them. 
I supposed we would share babies as we 
have shared everything else." 

This made the friend ashamed of her- 
self, and she said that she was sorry she 
was cross, and that Mrs. Polistes should 
call one of the cocoons hers. 

Then they put their heads together to 
decide what to do with the nest. When 
Wasps put their heads together, they 
stroke each other with their long feelers, 
or antennae, and in that way each is sure 
what the other is thinking. They also 
smell with these feelers, you know, and 
some people say that they hear with them. 
A Wasp with broken antennae can do but 
little, and as for not having any — why, 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 59 

a Wasp might as well die at once as to 
lose his antennae. 

Poor Mrs. Polistes and her little friend ! 
It looked now as though if they were to 
bring up those children at all, they would 
have to do it wrong side up. The right 
way, you know, is to raise them upside 
down, and here they were lying with their 
heads up in cells that were open at the top. 

Yet, even while they were thinking 
about it, something else happened. The 
window sash on which the nest lay began 
to move slowly and steadily upward, not 
stopping until the nest almost touched 
the casing above. 

Mrs. Polistes was so frightened ! She 
thought that nest, children, and all were 
about to be crushed flat. She said after- 
ward that she was so scared she could 
think of nothing but stinging, and there 
was nobody whom she could sting. Of 
course, that would be so, for a Wasp who 
is frightened always wants to sting, and it 



60 Dooryard Stories 

is a great comfort to him if he can. It 
gives him something new to think about, 
you know. 

The Lady was the one who slowly 
pushed the sash upward. She thought it 
might help the poor little mothers some- 
what. And it did. They began at once 
to hunt food for their children and bring 
it in. The nest now lay on the middle of 
the sash. Before it was knocked loose, 
it had hung over in one corner of the 
casing. It would now have been much 
nearer for the little mothers to crawl 
through the middle of the shutters. But 
they were Wasps, and Wasps do not 
easily change their paths, so they entered 
each time at precisely the old place, and 
then flew or crawled to the nest. One 
who watches Wasps in the open air would 
never expect them to go by a roundabout 
way, for they fly so swiftly, strongly, and 
directly, yet they are easily puzzled by 
changes around the nest. 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 61 

Mrs. Polistes had not fed more than 
half her share of children when she had 
an idea. She struck her antennae against 
those of her friend and told her about it. 
Then they walked all around the nest, 
looked at it, felt of it, and gave it little 
pushes. The Lady stood on her chair 
watching them, but they were used to her 
and did not mind it. 

" I believe we can," said Mrs. Polistes. 

" It would be lovely if we could," an- 
swered her friend, " but I am sure we 
can't." 

" We can try it, anyway," said Mrs. 
Polistes. 

" What is the use ? " said her friend. 
" It will just scare the babies and tire us 
out. We might better feed them where 
they are." 

" No," said Mrs. Polistes, and she spoke 
very positively. " No ! There are worse 
things than being scared, and they must 
stand it. If we leave this nest as it is, 



62 Dooryard Stories 

the first hard wind will tumble it around, 
and a rolling nest raises no Wasps." 

" Mothers ! " cried the children, in their 
weak little voices. " Mothers ! What 
are you talking about ? " 

"We are going to fix your nest up 
again," answered Mrs. Polistes. " Now 
be good children, and do not bother us 
with questions." 

Then she and her friend began push- 
ing and pulling and rolling and tumbling 
the nest around to get it more nearly 
right side up. They got it tipped so 
that all the cells slanted downward, and 
then they began chewing wood-pulp and 
building a new stem toward it from the 
casing above. Mrs. Polistes worked so 
hard that her friend was really worried 
about her. She would not take time to 
eat. At last her friend stood right in 
front of her and unswallowed a drop of 
delicious honey. " You must eat it," she 
said. " When I swallowed it, I meant to 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 63 

keep it for myself, but I would much 
rather give it to you." Mrs. Polistes 
lapped it up and felt stronger at once. 

Such a stout stem as this one was ! 
The cell walls also had to be strength- 
ened with more of the wood pulp and 
sticky saliva from the Wasps' mouths, 
because the stem was to be fastened to 
them in a new place. It was not until 
the next day that all this work was done, 
and the mothers could begin living in 
the old way again. The babies were 
glad when this time came, for they had 
not been fed so much while extra build- 
ing had to be done. 

The two children who were ready to 
do so had spun their cocoons in their 
cells. They used the silky stuff which 
they had in their mouths, and which 
oozed out through a little hole in each 
child's lip. The others were growing 
finely, the nest was hanging from its new 
stem, the Lady had lowered the window 



64 Dooryard Stories 

sash once more, and Mrs. Polistes and 
her friend had a little time to rest. " I 
am going to give myself a thorough 
cleaning," said she, licking her front feet 
off and then rubbing her head with them. 
" And then I am going away for a play- 
spell." 

She cleaned herself all over with her 
legs, and was most particular about her 
antennae. She had special cleaners for 
these, you know — little prongs which grow 
in the bend of the fourth and fifth joints 
of the forelegs and fit closely around the 
antennae, scraping them clean between 
the bent legs and the prongs. You can 
see she would need to be particular, be- 
cause she had to do her talking, her 
smelling, part of her feeling, and perhaps 
some of her hearing with them. When 
she was well scrubbed, she took a good 
look at the children and flew off for a 
fine time, while her friend took care of 
things at home. 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 65 

Such fun as she had ! She caught and 
ate Cabbage Butterflies, Earwigs, and 
other food which will not be touched 
by most insects and birds. She supped 
a tiny bit of honey from the sweet clover, 
and then flew straight to the cherry tree. 
A Catbird was already there, helping 
himself to the best in the tree-top, and 
laughing at the Lady when she tried to 
scare him away. He was never afraid of 
her throwing straight enough to hit him. 

Mrs. Polistes sipped juice from one 

ripe cherry after another, and then, sad 

to say, she began to drink from one 

which was over-ripe. She may not have 

known that it was so, but not knowing 

made no difference with her feelings. 

She was soon so weak in all her six legs 

that she could not walk, and so weak in 

her wings that her big front and her 

small hind pairs would not stay hooked 

together as they should be. It was a 

long time before she could get home. 
5 



66 Dooryard Stories 

When she did go, she carried back 
some good things for the children, and 
then took care of them while her friend 
had a playspell. After all, when she was 
once rested, she enjoyed work better 
than play. Her children all grew finely, 
and so did those of her friend, which was 
exceedingly fortunate. If one had died, 
you know, after the tumbling down of 
the nest, each would have thought it 
her own. 

The little Wasps also grew up as well 
as could be expected. The sons all took 
after their father, and were lazy, but, apart 
from that, they were all right. The 
Queen daughters were exactly like their 
mothers, and the little Workers, of whom 
there were the most of all, were the great- 
est of comforts. They did the work of the 
home as soon as they were old enough. 
It was truly a family which paid for saving. 

When people asked Mrs. Polistes how 
she ever came to think of such a thing as 



Plucky Mrs. Polistes 



6 7 



putting the nest up again, she simply 
flirted her wings and replied : " Where 
else should I put it ? I could n't leave 
my children there." 




SILVERTIP STOPS A QUARREL 

HPHIS is the story of something which 
* did not really happen in the door- 
yard of the big house, yet it has seemed 
best to put it in with these tales because 
it could all be seen from that yard, and 
because Silvertip had a part in it. 

He was sitting quietly upon the broad 
top-rail of the fence one afternoon, wish- 
ing that the sun would shine again. It 
had rained most of the time for three 
days, and he did not like wet weather. 
He thought it was going to clear off, for 
the clouds had not sent any drops down 
since noon. The grass and walks were 
still damp, so he sat on the fence-rail. 
He had stayed in the house so long that 
he was tired of it, and he was also watch- 

68 



Silvertip Stops a Quarrel 69 

ing a pair of Robins who had built a nest 
on one of the up-stairs window-ledges. 
They had put it right on top of a last 
year's Robins' nest, and that was on one 
of the year before. You can see that it 
was well worth looking at. 

Silvertip had been here only a short 
time, when he saw Mr. White Cat, from 
another house, walking over to the one 
across the street. Miss Tabby Cat lived 
there, and he knew that Mr. Tiger Cat 
was around somewhere. Mr. White Cat 
looked very cross. He was one of those 
people who are good-natured only when 
the sun is shining and they have every- 
thing they want, and this, you know, is 
not the best sort of a person. 

" Um-hum ! " said Silvertip to himself. 
" I think there will be a fight before long. 
I will watch." He stood up and stretched 
himself carefully and sat down the other 
way, so as to see all that happened. Sil- 
vertip himself never fought. He spent a 



Jo Dooryard Stories 

great deal of time in making believe fight, 
and usually entertained his Cat callers 
by glaring, spitting, or even growling at 
them, but he never really clawed and 
scratched and bit. He did not care to 
have sore places all over him, and he did 
not wish to get his ears chewed off. 

" I can get what I want without fight- 
ing for it, so why should I fight ? " said 
he. He was a very good sort of Cat, and 
had never been really cross about any- 
thing except when the Little Boy came 
to live in the big house. Then he had 
been sulky for weeks, and would not stay 
in the room with the Little Boy at all. 
He thought that if he made enough fuss 
about it, the Gentleman and the Lady 
would not let the Little Boy live there. 
When he found the Little Boy would 
stay anyway, he stopped being cross. 
After a while he loved him too. 

No, Silvertip would not fight. But he 
very much liked to watch other Cats fight. 



Silvertip Stops a Quarrel 71 

Now he saw Miss Tabby sit quietly by 
the house across the street and right in 
front of a hole under the porch. She 
had her legs tucked beneath her, and her 
tail neatly folded around them. She 
looked as though she had found a small 
spot which was dry, and wanted to get all 
of herself on that. 

Just inside the open doorway of the 
barn, there sat Mr. Tiger Cat. He also 
had his legs tucked in and his tail folded 
around him. Mr. White Cat walked 
straight up to him and stood stiff-legged. 
Mr. Tiger Cat, who had just eaten a 
hearty meal and wanted an after-dinner 
nap, half opened his eyes and looked at 
him. Then he closed them again. 

This made Mr. White Cat more ill- 
natured still. He did not like to have 
people look at him and then shut their 
eyes. He began to switch his tail and 
stand his hair on end. He decided to 
make the other Cat fight anyway. He 



72 Dooryard Stories 

cared all the more about it because Miss 
Tabby was watching him. He had not 
noticed Silvertip. " Er-oo ! " said he, 
drawing back his head and lowering his 
tail stiffly. " Did you say it was going to 
rain, or did you say it was not ? " 

" I hardly think it will," answered Mr. 
Tiger Cat pleasantly. 

" You don't think it will, hey?" asked 
Mr. White Cat. "Well, I say it will 
pour." 

Mr. Tiger Cat slid his thin eyelids over 
his eyes. 

" Did you hear me ? " asked Mr. White 
Cat, still standing in the same way. 

" Certainly," answered the other. 

"Well, what do you say to that?" 
asked Mr. White Cat, and now he began 
to stand straighter and hold his tail out 
behind. 

" I am willing it should pour," said Mr. 
Tiger Cat, beginning to uncover his eyes 
slowly. 



Silvertip Stops a Quarrel 73 

11 O0-00 ! You are ? " growled Mr. 
White Cat. " You are, are you ? Well, 
I am not ! " 

There was no answer. You see Mr. 
Tiger Cat did not want to fight. He did 
not need to just then, and he never 
fought for the fun of it when his stomach 
was so full. He supposed he would have 
to in the end, for he knew when a fellow 
has really made up his mind to it, and is 
picking a quarrel, it has to end in that 
way. At least, it has to end in that way 
when one is a Cat. If one is bigger 
and better, there are other ways of end- 
ing it. 

Mr. Tiger Cat knew all this, and yet he 
waited. " The longer I wait," he thought, 
" the more I shall feel like it. My stom- 
ach will not be so full and I can fight 
better. He need n't think he can come 
around and pick a quarrel and chew my 
ears when Miss Tabby is looking on. 
No indeed," 



74 Dooryard Stories 

You see Mr. Tiger Cat was also fond 
of Miss Tabby. 

" Er-roo ! " said Mr. White Cat, straight- 
ening his legs until he stood very tall in- 
deed. "Er-roo!" 

He had made himself so angry now 
that he could not talk in words at all. 
Mr. Tiger Cat sat still. 

" Er-row ! " said Mr. White Cat, speak- 
ing way down his throat. " Er-row ! " 
Mr. Tiger Cat sat still. 

Silvertip became so excited that he 
could not stay longer on the fence. He 
dearly loved to see a good fight, you 
know, so he jumped quietly down without 
looking away from the barn door, and be- 
gan walking softly toward it. He knew 
that when a Cat got to saying " Er-row ! " 
down in his throat, something was going 
to happen very soon. Silvertip did not 
know, however, exactly what it would be 
because he did not see a couple of big- 
Dogs trotting down the street toward him. 



Silvertip Stops a Quarrel 75 

He crept nearer and nearer to the 
barn, hardly looking where he stepped 
for fear of missing some of the fun. His 
pretty white paws got wet and dirty, but 
that did not matter now. Paws could be 
licked clean at any time. Fights must 
be watched while they may be found. 

" Ra-ow ! " said Mr. White Cat, giving 
a forward jump. 

" Pht ! " answered Mr. Tiger Cat, stand- 
ing stiffly on his hind feet and letting his 
front ones hang straight down. He was 
wide awake now, and ready to teach Mr. 
White Cat a lesson in politeness. 

" Bow-wow ! " said the Dogs just be- 
hind Silvertip. He might have run up 
a tree near by, but he had a bright 
idea. 

11 1 11 do it," he exclaimed. " The Lit- 
tle Boy says it is wicked to fight, any- 
way." Then he ran straight in through 
that open door and jumped to a high 
shelf in the barn. He saw Miss Tabby 



76 Dooryard Stories 

turn a summersault backward and crawl 
under the porch. 

Mr. Tiger Cat took a long jump to the 
sill of a high window. Mr. White Cat 
did not seem to care at all whether it was 
going to pour or not. He sprang to the 
top round of a ladder. The Dogs frisked 
below, wagging their tails and talking to 
each other about the Cats. 

Mr. Tiger Cat, who was very well-bred 
and could always think of something 
polite to say, remarked to Silvertip : 
11 Your call was quite an unexpected 
pleasure ! " He had a smiling look around 
the mouth as he spoke. 

" Yes," answered Silvertip, who liked 
a joke as well as anybody, unless it were 
a joke on himself alone. " Yes, I found 
myself coming this way, and just ran in." 

Then they both settled down comfort- 
ably where they were, tucking their feet 
under them and wrapping their tails 
around. Nobody said anything to Mr. 



Silvertip Stops a Quarrel yy 

White Cat, who had no chance to sit 
down, and, indeed, could hardly keep 
from falling off the ladder. 

The Dogs frisked and tumbled in the 
barn for a while and hung around the 
foot of the ladder. They knew they 
could not get either of the others, but 
they had a happy hope that Mr. White 
Cat might fall. 

When at last the Dogs had gone, and 
Mr. White Cat had also sneaked away, Mr. 
Tiger Cat said: " Fighting is very wrong." 

11 Yes," replied Silvertip, " very wrong 
indeed. But," he added, " I '11 make be- 
lieve fight anybody." So he jumped 
stiffly down and Mr. Tiger Cat jumped 
stiffly down, and they glared and growled 
at each other all the afternoon and never 
bit or even unsheathed a claw. They 
had a most delightful time, and Miss 
Tabby came out from under the porch 
and smiled on them both. She loved 
Cats who acted bravely. 



A YOUNG SWIFT TUMBLES 

I N one of the chimneys of the big house 
1 several families of Chimney Swifts 
had built their homes. They had come 
north in April and flown straight to this 
particular place. It was the family home 
of this branch of the Swifts, and every 
year since great-grandfather Swift dis- 
covered it, some of his children and 
grandchildren had come back there to 
build. They were quite airy, and thought 
a great deal about appearances. " Swifts 
are sure to be judged by the chimney in 
which they live," they said, "and there is 
no use in choosing a poor one when there 
are good ones to be found." 

Nobody would have dared remind 
these Chimney Swifts that their great- 

78 




THE CHIMNEY-SWIFT'S HOME. 



Page 78 



A Young Swift Tumbles 79 

great-great-great-grandparents lived in 
hollow trees, if indeed any of their 
friends knew it. They themselves never 
spoke of the Swifts who still do so, and 
since they had always lived in a land of 
chimneys, they did not dream of the times 
when there were none to be found. Of 
course, before the white men came to 
this country Swifts had to build in hol- 
low trees. 

You can just imagine what a happy, 
busy place this chimney was in the spring- 
time, when last years nests were being 
torn down and new ones were building. 
The older Swifts were there and those 
who were to keep house for the first time. 
Then, of course, the younger ones had 
married and brought new wives there, 
and they had to be introduced and shown 
all over the chimney. 

Some wanted to build nearer the top 
than others, and the older ones were 
always advising the younger ones. It 



80 Dooryard Stories 

was so hard for a Swift mother to re- 
member that her married son was old 
enough to decide things for himself ; and 
many such mothers fluttered around the 
sons nests, telling them how to place each 
twig, and giving the new wives advice as 
to how to bring up the babies who would 
soon come to live with them. 

This story is about a young couple 
who built the lowest nest of all. They 
were dressed just alike in sleek, sooty, 
brown feathers, which were of a lighter 
shade on their throats. Their necks and 
heads were very broad, their bills short 
but able to open very wide ; their wings 
were longer than their tails, and the quills 
of their tail feathers stuck out stiff and 
bare far beyond the soft, feathery part. 
The Swifts are all very proud of these 
bare quills. " There are not many birds," 
they say, "who can show their quills in 
that fashion." 

These quills are very useful, too, for 



A Young Swift Tumbles 81 

after a Swift has broken off a tiny twig 
for his nest, he has to cling to the side of 
the chimney and fix it into place, and he 
could not do this without supporting him- 
self by these tail quills. It is hard work 
building nests, and you can see that it 
would be. They have to cling with both 
feet, support themselves with their tails, 
put each tiny twig in place with their bills, 
and glue it there with sticky saliva from 
their mouths or else with tree-gum. 

The young husband who was building 
his first home low down in the chimney 
was a sturdy and rather wilful fellow, who 
was very sure what he wanted, and just 
as sure that he was going to get it. When 
he said, M I shall do this," or ? 4< I am go- 
ing to have that," other people had learned 
to keep still. They sometimes had a smil- 
ing look around the bill, but they said 
nothing. His wife was a sweet and sen- 
sible Swift who never made a fuss 
about anything, or bragged of what she 



82 Dooryard Stories 

meant to do. Still, other Swifts who 
watched them said that she had her way 
quite as often as he had his. 

It was really she who had chosen to 
build well down in the chimney. Her 
husband had preferred to be near the top, 
and she had agreed to that, but spoke of 
what would happen if one of their chil- 
dren should fall out of the nest. 

" There is no need of one falling out," 
said Mr. Swift. " Tell them to lie still 
and not push around. Then they will 
not fall out." 

Mrs. Swift fixed one of the feathers 
on the under side of her left wing, and 
then remarked : " And you do not think 
it would disturb you to have our neigh- 
bors passing all the time." 

" Yes, I do," he replied. " I have 
thought so from the first, and I am think- 
ing that it might be well to build lower 
for that reason. Then we could be pass- 
ing the others instead." 



A Young Swift Tumbles 83 

He flew down and pecked at the bricks 
in a few places to make sure that he 
could fasten a nest securely. Then he 
came back to his wife. " I have decided 
to build the lowest nest of all," said he, 
"but you understand it is not on account 
of the children. There is no sense in 
their moving around in the nest." 

" I understand," said Mrs. Swift, and 
he flew away for twigs while she stayed 
behind to visit with her mother-in-law r . 

The mother - in - law's eyes twinkled. 
11 1 believe my son said that his children 
were not to move around in the nest," 
she said with a laugh. " I wonder how 
he is going to stop their doing so." 

" Tell them, I suppose," answered 
young Mrs. Swift, smilingly. " Did he 
push around at all when he was a baby ?" 

" He ? " replied the older Swift. " He 
was the most restless child I ever hatched. 
He will know more about bringing up 
children after he has raised a brood or 



84 Dooryard Stories 

two. Don't worry, my dear. It will 
come out all right." She flew off and 
the young wife went for twigs also, and 
thought how happy she ought to be in 
having such a mother-in-law. 

When the lowest nest was built and 
the four long pure white eggs were laid 
in it, Mr. and Mrs. Swift were a very 
proud young couple. The nest was so 
thin that one could see the eggs through 
it quite plainly, but it was exceedingly 
stout and firm. It was not a soft nest, 
and it had no real lining, although Mrs. 
Swift had laid in one especially perfect 
grass blade " to give it style." 

That grass blade may be seen to this 
day by any one who cares to look at the 
nest as it lies in a cabinet in the house. 
It was the only nest in the chimney 
which had anything but twigs in it, and 
some people wondered at Mrs. Swift's 
taste. One stout elderly mother Swift 
said "she supposed it was all right, but 



A Young Swift Tumbles 85 

that she had never done such a thing 
and her children had turned out all right" 
However, young Mrs. Swift smiled in 
her pretty way and did not talk back. 

When they were planning for the four 
children whom they expected, Mrs. Swift 
spoke of how patient they would have to 
be with them, but Mr. Swift said : " They 
must be brought up to mind ! If I tell 
a child once to do a thing, that is enough. 
You will see how I bring them up." Then 
he ruffled up his feathers, puffed out his 
throat, and looked very important. 

They did most of their visiting in the 
beautiful night-time, for it is a custom 
among their people to fly and hunt and 
visit in the dark, and rest by day. Their 
busiest time is always just before the sun 
comes up, and so it happened that the 
Little Boy who slept in the room below 
did not often hear the rumbling noise in 
the chimney as they flew in and out. 
When they were awakened he slept 



86 Dooryard Stones 

quietly in his snug little bed, and as he 
was awakening, and stretching, and get- 
ting his dimples ready for the day, the 
Swifts were going to sleep after a busy 
night. 

When the baby Swifts broke their shells 
and were seen for the first time by their 
loving father and mother, Mr. Swift was 
surprised to find how small they were. 
Mrs. Swift murmured sweet words to 
them and worked as hard as her husband 
to find them food. There were now so 
many mouths to be fed that they flew by 
day as well as by night, and often the 
Little Boy in the room below thought he 
heard distant thunder when it was only 
the Swifts coming down the chimney with 
food for their babies. All sorts of tiny 
winged creatures were brought them to 
eat, for Swifts catch all their food as they 
fly, and that means that they can feed 
upon only such creatures as also fly. 

When they were stretching up to reach 



A Young Swift Tumbles 87 

the food, Mrs. Swift would say to the 
children : " Now learn to move carefully, 
for if you should get over the edge of the 
nest you will tumble down into that fire- 
place of which I have told you/' 

When he was feeding them Mr. Swift 
would say : " You may open your bills, but 
not one of you must move beyond that 
twig. Do you understand ? " 

Three of them obeyed without asking 
questions, but the eldest brother was al- 
ways trying to see just how far he could 
go without tumbling, and he would talk 
back to his father. 

" You don't care if I put one wing out, 
do you ? " he would ask. 

" Not one wing ! " his father would an- 
swer. 

"Why?" the son would ask. "I 
would n't tumble just because I put one 
wing out." 

"It is not minding me," his father 
would say, "to see how far you can go 



88 Dooryard Stories 

without tumbling. I did not tell you 
only to keep from falling out. I told 
you to keep inside that twig." 

Then the son would pout his bill and 
act very sulky, getting close to the twig 
which he had been told not to pass. 
When he thought his father was not 
looking, he would even wriggle a little 
beyond it. Mrs. Swift was worried, but 
what could she do ? She noticed that 
her husband did not talk so much as he 
used to about making a child mind the 
very first time he is spoken to. 

One night when the Swifts had fed 
their children faithfully, this son was un- 
usually naughty. It may be that he had 
eaten more than his share or that he had 
picked for the biggest insect every time 
that lunch was brought. It may be, too, 
that he was naughty simply because he 
wanted to be. It does not always mean 
that a child is ill when he is naughty. 
His father had just told him to be more 



A Young Swift Tumbles 89 

careful, and he made a face (yes, he did) 
and flopped aside to show what he could 
do without falling. 

Then he felt a tiny twig on the edge 
of the nest break beneath him, and he 
went tumbling, bumping, and scraping 
down into the fireplace below. He could 
not fly up, for his wings were not strong 
enough to carry him up such a narrow 
space, and his parents could not get him. 
He heard his brother and sisters crying 
and his mother saying that she had al- 
ways expected that to happen. 

" Horrid old twig ! " he said. " Don't 
see why it had to break ! Should think 
they might build their nest stronger. I 
don't care ! 1 was sick of being told not 
to wriggle, anyway ! " 

Then he fluttered and sprawled through 
a crack beside the screen of the grate un- 
til he was out in the room. The Little 
Boy lay asleep in the bed, and that fright- 
ened the young Swift When they tried 



90 Dooryard Stories 

to scare each other the children had al- 
ways pretended that a Boy was after 
them. He crawled behind a picture which 
leaned against the wall, and stayed there 
and thought about his dear, dear home 
up in the chimney. 

The Little Boy stirred and awakened 
and called out : " Mother ! Mother ! There 
is somefing making a scratching noise in 
my room. I fink it is a Bear." 

The young Swift sat very still while 
the Lady came in and hunted for the 
Bear. She never came near his hiding- 
place, and laughed at the Little Boy for 
thinking of Bears. She told him that 
the only Bears around their town were 
two-legged ones, and when he asked her 
what that meant she laughed again. 

He peeped out from behind the picture 
and saw the Little Boy dress himself. 
He heard him say : " I can't poss'bly get 
vese shoes on, but I '11 try and try and 
try." He thought how much pleasanter 



A Young Swift Tumbles 91 

it was to be a Swift and have all his 
clothes grow on, and to go barefoot all 
the year. 

He heard the Lady say : " Why, you 
precious Boy ! You did get your shoes 
on, after all." Then he saw them go off 
to breakfast, racing to see who would 
beat. 

After they were gone, he fluttered out 
to the window, and there the Lady found 
him, and the Little Boy danced around 
and wanted to touch him, but did n't 
quite dare. The Lady said : " I think 
this must have been your Bear," and the 
Little Boy said : " My teeny-weeny little 
bitty Bear wiv feavers on." He heard 
the Little Boy ask, too, why the bird 
had so many pins sticking out of his 
tail, and this made him cross. He did 
not understand what pins were, but he 
felt that anybody ought to know about 
tail-quills. 

He did n't know much about Boys, for 



92 Dooryard Stories 

this was the first one he had ever seen, 
and he wondered what those shiny white 
things were in his mouth. He had never 
seen teeth and he could not understand. 
He wondered how the Boy got along 
without a bill, and pitied him very much. 
This Little Boy did not seem so very 
terrible. He even acted a bit afraid of 
the Swift. 

Next the young Swift felt himself 
lifted gently in the Lady's hand and laid 
in a box with soft white stuff in it and 
two small holes cut in the cover. He 
was carried from room to room in the 
house and shown to other people. Once 
he heard a queer voice say, " Meouw ! " 
and then the Little Boy stamped his foot 
and said : " Go way, Teddy Silvertip. 
You can't have my little bird, you hungry 
Cat." 

After this the young Swift was more 
scared than before, and would have given 
every feather he had to be safely back 



A Young Swift Tumbles 93 

in the nest in the chimney. He was 
hungry, too, and he wanted to see his 
father and his dear mother. He beat 
his wings against the sides of the box 
and cried for his mother. " Oh," he 
said, " if I were only back in the nest 
I would n't move. I would n't move a 
bit." Then the Cat mewed again and 
he kept still from fright. 

At last he was taken into the open air 
and placed in the top of a short ever- 
green, where the Cat could not reach 
him. Here he clung, weak and lonely 
and scared, blinking his half-blinded eyes 
in a light brighter than he had yet seen. 
All the rest of that day he stayed there, 
while his father and mother and their 
other children were sleeping in the home 
nest. He expected never to see them 
again, but he did want to tell them how 
sorry he was. 

After the sun had set and the moon 
was shining, he saw his father darting 



94 Dooryard Stories 

to and fro above him. " Father ! " he 
cried. " Father, I am so sorry that I 
moved past the twig. I was very 
naughty." 

His father heard and flew down to 
tuck a fat and juicy May Beetle into his 
mouth. " You poor child ! " said he. 
" Eat that and don't try to talk. You 
will not do such things when you are 
older. I will get you some more food." 

When he returned Mrs. Swift was with 
him, and they petted and fed the young 
Swift all night, never scolding him at all, 
because, as they said, he had been pun- 
ished quite enough and was sorry. And 
that was true. His grandmother came 
also with a bit of food. She told him 
that they would feed him every night 
and that he should hide in the branches 
each day until his feathers were grown. 

11 In three days more," said she, "you 
will be ready to fly, and you look more 
like your father all the time. In three 



A Young Swift Tumbles 95 

days more," she said, " if nobody eats 
you up." 

You can imagine how anxious the 
young Swift was during those three days, 
and how small he tried to be when 
Silvertip was around. " Surely," he 
thought, "the sun and moon were never 
before so slow in marking off the time." 

When at last he was ready for flight, 
Silvertip was under the snowball bush 
near by. The young Swift sprang into 
the air. " Good by, my Cat friend," 
said he. " You look hungry, but you 
have lost your best chance at me. You 
should have been waiting at the grate 
for me. You might have known that 
such a foolish young Swift as I would 
tumble down sooner or later. All that 
saves some people is not having their 
foolishness found out ! " 




THE VERY RUDE YOUNG 
ROBINS 

TX7HY this pair of Robins chose to 
* * build so near the Sparrows, no- 
body knows. It was not at all like Robins 
to do so, for they are quite careful how 
they bring up their children. One would 
expect them to think how likely the little 
Robins would be to grow up rude and 
quarrelsome. 

However, there their nest was, not the 
length of a beanpole from those of two 
pairs of Sparrows. When the nestlings 
were hatched, they listened all day to 
what the Sparrows were saying and looked 
at what they were doing. They heard 
and saw many things which Mr. and Mrs. 

Robin did not like. But there was no 

9 6 



The Very Rude Young Robins 97 

helping it then, and all that their parents 
could do was to try to bring them up to 
be good little birds, and do as they had 
been told, and not as they had seen 
naughty children do. 

It did make a difference in the behavior 
of the children, however, and after they 
left the nest this showed very plainly. 
When they were old enough to go outside 
the yard in which they had been hatched, 
they went to the place next door. There 
were many fowls on this place, and several 
Hens in coops with young Chickens 
around them. The father and mother 
left the young Robins in safe places while 
they went to hunt Worms in the newly 
hoed garden. Two children, a brother 
and a sister, were half hidden under the 
drooping branches of a large gooseberry 
bush. 

They had been there for some time, 

when the sister said, " Just see what lots 

of good, clean food that Hen and her 
7 



98 Dooryard Stories 

Chickens have. Don't you wish you had 
some of it ? " 

" Urn-hum ! " answered the brother. 
11 What a pretty yellow it is. I just know 
it is good ! " 

Neither of them spoke again for a long 
time. Indeed, the brother had begun to 
settle his head down on his shoulders and 
slide the thin lids over his eyes, when his 
sister said, " If you were a Sparrow, you 'd 
get some." 

" Well, I 'm not a Sparrow," he an- 
swered, " and so I shall have to go with- 
out." 

He was almost cross to his dear little 
sister, but perhaps one could partly excuse 
him. He saw that there was much more 
than the Chickens could eat, and that it 
would lie there spread out on the board 
until they had spoiled it all by trampling 
it with muddy feet. Now it was lovely, 
clean, sweet corn-meal mush. Besides, 
he was becoming dreadfully hungry. It 



The Very Rude Young Robins 99 

was fully ten minutes, you know, since he 
had been fed anything. 

The little sister kept still for a while. 
Her mother had taught her that it does 
not always pay to talk too much. At last 
she asked, " Do you suppose those tiny 
bits of Chickens know the difference be- 
tween a Sparrow and a Robin ? " 

Her brother opened his eyes very wide, 
and stretched his head up so that one 
could see the black and white feathers 
under his bill. He was almost full-grown. 
" I Ve a good mind to try to fool them," 
he said. "You see, the Hen can't reach 
the board where the food is." 

" I dare you to ! " cried his sister, who 
really should have been his brother, she 
was so brave. 

"All right," he answered. " Only you 
come too." 

" I will," she said. " But let 's wait until 
Father and Mother are looking the other 
way." 

j LofC. 



ioo Dooryard Stories 

Twice they started out and came back 
because their parents were looking. At 
last they made a dash and were by the 
board. 

" Stand aside !" said the brother, talk- 
ing as nearly like a Sparrow as he could. 
11 Let us have some of this ! " 

"Who are you?" asked the Chickens, 
while the old Hen cluck-cluck-clucked and 
strutted to and fro in the coop. Every 
little while she stuck her head out as far 
as she could reach, and her neck feathers 
spread around in a funny, fat way against 
the slats of her coop. 

" Go away ! " she scolded. " Go right 
away ! That is not your mush ! You are 
not my Chickens ! Go right home to 
your mother ! Cr-r-r-r-r ! " She said this 
last, you know, because she was getting 
so angry that she could say nothing 
else. 

The fowls behind the netting of the 
poultry-yard all came to see what was go- 



The Very Rude Young Robins 101 

ing on, and chattered about it in their 
cackling way. " Send them off ! " they 
cried. " Send them off ! The idea of 
their trying to take food from the 
Chickens ! " The Cocks looked particu- 
larly big and fierce. Still, there is not 
much fun in looking big and fierce be- 
hind a wire netting, when the people 
whom you want to scare are in front 
of it. 

The young Robins were dreadfully 
frightened, but having feathers all over 
their face, it did not really show. Neither 
one was willing to be the first to start 
away, and they did n't like to speak about 
it to each other for fear of being over- 
heard. You know, if you can keep other 
people from finding out that you are 
scared, you may end by scaring them, and 
that was exactly what the Robins meant 
to do. 

" Get out of our way ! " said they. 
" Don't brush against us so again ! If 



102 Dooryard Stones 

you were not young, we would n't have 
stood it this time. When you have 
feathers you may know better." 

Then the little Chickens were very 
badly scared indeed. They backed away 
as quickly as they could, and crawled in 
beside their mother. She told them to 
go back ; that the Robins could n't hurt 
them, and that she was ashamed to have 
them act so Chicken-hearted. 

" Let us get under your wings !" they 
said. " Please let us get under your 
wings ! " And they followed, peeping, 
after her, as she marched to and fro in 
the narrow coop. Sometimes they got so 
near her feet that she almost knocked 
them over, and at last they quite gave up 
trying to cuddle down under her, and got 
together in little groups in the back part 
of the coop. 

" Had enough ? " asked the brother at 
last. 

" Yes, indeed," answered his sister. " I 



The Very Rude Young Robins 103 

can't swallow any more now. I 'm just 
making believe because you are not 
through." 

" All right ! " said he. 

He turned to the Chickens. "Now 
you may come," he said. " But another 
time get out of our way more quickly." 
Then they turned their backs and hopped 
off. They did n't want to try flying, 
because that would show how very young 
they were. 

" We did it," exclaimed those two 
naughty children. " Did you ever see 
such little Geese as those Chickens ? But 
oh, what if our parents should find it 
out?" 

" See here," chirped their mother, who 
could not speak very plainly because she 
had two large Earthworms hanging in 
wriggling loops from her bill, " Here is a 
lovely lunch for you." 

" Give it to Brother," said the little 
sister. " He always wants more than I." 



104 Dooryard Stories 

" Oh, no. Give it to Sister," said he. 
" I don't mean to be selfish." 

" You shall both have some," said their 
mother, tucking a large Worm down each 
unwilling throat. " Little birds will never 
be big birds unless they eat plenty of the 
right kind of food. I will bring you 
more." 

When she was gone they looked at 
each other. " I just can not eat another 
billful," said the sister. 

" And I won't ! " said the brother. Af- 
ter a while he added, " Is there any of 
that mush sticking to my bill ?" 

" No," said the sister. " Is there any 
on mine ?" 

They did not feel at all sure that their 
mother would have let them eat so much 
mush if she had been asked. They won- 
dered if it would make them sick. They 
began to think about the stomach-ache, 
and felt sure that they had one — that is 
to say, two — one apiece, you know. 



The Very Rude Young Robins 105 

Over in the garden, Mrs. Robin said to 
her husband, " Do you know what those 
children have done? It was a very ill- 
bred, Sparrow-like trick. They scared the 
little Chickens away, and ate all they could 
of their mush. I am dreadfully ashamed 
of them, but I shall pretend I did not see 
it." 

" Make them eat plenty of Worms," 
suggested Mr. Robin. 

" Just what I am going to do," an- 
swered his wife. " It won't really hurt 
them to overeat for once in their lives, 
and it will punish them very well." 

That was why Mr. and Mrs. Robin 
worked so especially hard all morning, and 
made so many trips in under the goose- 
berry bush. The two young Robins who 
were there kept insisting that they did n't 
need any more, and that they really 
could n't eat another Worm. After they 
said this, Mrs. Robin always looked 
sharply at them and asked, " What have 



106 Dooryard Stories 

you children been doing? Young birds 
should always want all the Worms their 
parents can bring them." 

The little Robins were not brave enough 
to tell what they had done. You know it 
often takes more courage to confess a 
fault than it does to scare people. So 
whenever their mother said this they 
agreed to eat one more Worm apiece, and 
choked and gulped it down. It was a 
dreadful morning for them. 

Inside the Chicken-coop the old Hen 
was trying to settle down again, and the 
Chickens were talking it over. 

" Was n't it dreadful ? " asked one. " I 
did n't know that Robins were so 
fierce." 

" Mother said that we should n't be 
afraid of them,' cried another, " but I 
guess she 'd be afraid her own self if she 
was n't in that coop. She 'd be 'fraider if 
she was little, too." 

" I 'm glad they did n't eat it all," said 



The Very Rude Young Robins 107 

a third Chicken. " When do you suppose 
they '11 come again ? " 

" Every day," said another, a Chicken 
who always expected bad things to happen. 
" Perhaps they will come two times a day ! 
Maybe they 11 even come three ! " 

But they didn't. They didn't come at 
all. And they never wanted corn-meal 
mush again. 




THE SYSTEMATIC YELLOW- 
BILLED CUCKOO 

THHE people who lived in the big house 
* were much worried about the maple 
trees which shaded the sidewalk around 
the place. It was spring now, and they 
feared another such summer as the last, 
when the lawn had been covered with 
fine, healthy, large maple leaves, gnawed 
off by hungry Caterpillars. One could be 
sure they were not blown or knocked off, 
for each stem was neatly eaten through 
at about the length of a fir needle from 
the leaf. The lawn did not look well, 
and the Man who cared for it grumbled 
and scolded under his breath as he went 
around raking them up. He could not 
see that the Caterpillars were of any use 

108 



The Systematic Cuckoo 109 

in the world. The birds thought differ- 
ently, but he was a busy Man and 
not used to thinking of things in that 
way. 

Now spring had come again, and every 
day the people looked for more leaves on 
their lawn. They had not found them 
yet, because the Caterpillars were not 
old enough to nibble through the stems. 
Then, one morning while they were eat- 
ing their breakfast, these people heard a 
new voice outside. It was not a sweet 
voice. It sounded somewhat like a thump- 
ing on rough boards. It was saying, 
" Kuk-kuk-kuk ! " 

Some men who were passing by stopped 
to look up at the trees, then shook their 
heads and went on. The Little Boy 
wanted to leave his breakfast and go out 
at once to find the new bird, but he had 
to stay where he was, eat slowly, and fold 
his napkin before he was allowed to do 
this. When he went, the Lady and the 



no Dooryard Stories 

Gentleman went with him. None of them 
could see the bird, although they heard 
his " kuk-kuk-kuk ! " in first one tree and 
then another. 

" I am sure that is a Yellow-billed Cuck- 
oo," said the Lady, " and if it is, he has 
come for the Caterpillars that are spoiling 
our trees." 

"Why, Mother?" asked the Little 
Boy. " How do you know ? You did n't 
see him." 

" If you had your eyes shut, and I 
spoke to you," she replied, " would n't 
you known whose voice it was ? " 

The other birds also seemed to know 
whose voice it was, for they flew around 
in fright, and scolded and chattered until 
the visitor had left that row of maples 
and gone far away. Even then the more 
timid ones could not settle down to their 
regular duties. " It has given me such a 
start," said one Robin, whose nerves were 
always easily upset, "that I don't believe 



The Systematic Cuckoo 1 1 1 

I can weave another grass-blade into my 
nest to-day." 

" Nonsense!" exclaimed a Blackbird. 
" Eat something and you will feel all 
right. There is nothing like eating to 
make one feel better." 

The Robin did as she was told and 
felt somewhat steadier, yet even then 
she talked of nothing else that morning. 
" To think of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo 
coming here !" she said. " It makes my 
quills tingle to think of it. My poor 
babies ! My poor babies !" 

" Could n't you stop worrying for a 
while ? " her husband asked. " You know 
you have not even laid your eggs, so your 
children are not in danger yet." 

Mr. Robin was always gentle with his 
wife. The other birds did n't see how he 
could stand it, for she was forever worry- 
ing about something. 

" No," she replied, "they are not laid 
yet, but they will be, and you know per- 



1 1 2 Dooryard Stories 

fectly well, Mr. Robin, how glad that 
dreadful Cuckoo would be to suck every 
one of them. If he were only a Black- 
billed Cuckoo, it would not be so bad, but 
I saw his bill quite plainly, and it was 
yellow. Besides, he said, ' Kuk-kuk-kuk ! ' 
instead of ' Kow-kow-kow-kuk-kuk ! ' : 

" We will guard the nest carefully when 
the eggs are laid," said Mr. Robin. " And 
now I think I will go across the street to 
hunt." That also was a wise thing to do, 
for Mrs. Robin was always more sensible 
when she was alone. 

The birds saw nothing more of the 
Cuckoo that morning, but in the after- 
noon he came again. He was a large 
and very fine-looking bird, with green- 
gray feathers on the upper part of his 
body and in the middle of his tail, the 
outer tail-feathers being black with white 
spots. His wings were a bright brown, 
and the under part of his body was gray- 
ish-white. His bill was a very long and 



The Systematic Cuckoo 113 

strong one, and the under half of it was 
yellow. 

He had a habit of sitting very quietly 
every now and then on some branch to 
think. At such times he looked handsome 
but stupid, and really, when he got to 
thinking so, he was in great danger. It is 
at just such times that Hawks like to find 
Cuckoos, and after a Hawk has found 
one, nobody else ever has a chance. If 
you remember what sort of food Hawks 
like, you will understand what this 
means. 

When he was flying, however, he was 
exceedingly careful, always flitting from 
tree to tree by the nearest way, and never 
talking until he was well sheltered again 
by leafy branches. When he came to a 
row of maples, he began at one end and 
went right through, stopping a little while 
in each to hunt. He was very systematic, 
and that, you know, means that he always 
tried to do the same things in the same 

8 



ii4 Dooryard Stories 

way. This was why, during all the sum- 
mer that followed, he came both morning 
and afternoon at just the same times as 
on that first day. That is, he did on every 
day but one. 

Mrs. Cuckoo looked exactly like her 
husband. Indeed, some of their neigh- 
bors could hardly tell them apart. She 
was a very poor housekeeper. Her nest 
was only a few sticks laid on a bush in 
the edge of an orchard. She often said 
that she did not take easily to home life, 
so many of her great-grandparents having 
built no nests at all, but laid their eggs in 
the homes of other birds. Since this was 
so, people should not have expected too 
much of Mrs. Cuckoo. 

Another thing which made it hard for 
her, was the way in which she had to lay 
eggs, hatch eggs, and feed nestlings at the 
same time all summer. This was not her 
fault, for of course when an egg was ready 
it had to be laid, and there were seldom 



The Systematic Cuckoo 115 

two ready at once. It kept her busy and 
worried and tired all summer, and one 
could forgive her if she sometimes grew 
impatient. 

" I can never half do anything after my 
first egg is hatched/' she used to say. " I 
go to get food for that child, and all the 
time I am worrying for fear the second 
egg y which I have just laid, will get cold. 
Of course one newly hatched nestling 
cannot keep a large egg like mine warm. 
Then, when I am having all I can do to 
care for child and egg y I have to stop to 
lay another egg." 

Mr. Cuckoo was always sleek and re- 
spectable-looking. He never seemed in a 
hurry. He said that haste was ill-man- 
nered. " Always take time," he said, " to 
do things in the best way. If you are not 
sure which is the best way, sit down and 
think about it." He was much annoyed 
by Mrs. Cuckoo, and often told her how 
she needed to be systematic. " You have 



n6 Dooryard Stories 

such a hurried way, my dear," said he. 
" It is really very disagreeable." 

She was naturally a sweet-tempered 
bird, but one day she made up her mind 
to let her husband see how systematic he 
could be in her place. At that time she 
had a young bird and two eggs in the 
nest, and was very sure that one of the 
eggs was about to hatch. 

When they awakened the next morn- 
ing, she said sweetly to Mr. Cuckoo, " My 
dear, please stay with the baby until I get 
back/' Then she flew away without giv- 
ing him time to ask how long it would be 
or anything about it. Mr. Cuckoo was 
much surprised, and sat there thinking, as 
you know he was likely to do, until the 
nestling fairly screamed for food. 

" Dear me ! " said he to himself, " I 
must do something to keep that child 
still." So he hunted food and stuffed it 
down the nestling's wide-open bill. While 
he was doing so, he remembered the 




STUFFED IT DOWN THE WIDE-OPEN BILL. Page 116 



The Systematic Cuckoo 117 

eggs, which he found rather cool. ki She 
will never forgive me if those get cold," 
he said, so he hopped onto the nest and 
covered them with his breast. He wished 
that his wife would return. He thought 
that when a mother-bird had home cares 
she should stay by the nest. Just then 
his child cried for more food. 

" Hush ! " he exclaimed. " I cannot go 
now. Don't you see that I am warming 
these eggs ? " 

" I don't care ! I am hungry," cried 
she. " You did n't feed me enough." 

" Well, I could n't get you more just 
then," he said. " Now be patient until 
your mother comes. That 's a good 
child." 

" I can't be patient. I 'm hungry," cried 
the nestling. " I want a Caterpillar." 

Mr. Cuckoo could not stand teasing, so 
he hopped off the nest and picked up the 
first Caterpillar he found. It was not a 
good kind, and the little Cuckoo made a 



1 1 8 Dooryard Stones 

bad face and would not swallow it. Mr. 
Cuckoo rushed away to get a better one. 
That was eaten, and he was just getting 
on the eggs again when he heard a faint 
tapping inside of one. This made him 
very nervous, for he was not used to 
caring for newly hatched children. He 
called several times to Mrs. Cuckoo, but 
received no answer. 

There was more tapping, and the sec- 
ond child stuck his little bill through the 
shell and broke it. " Ouch ! " cried the 
older one ; " that pricks me. Take it 
away ! " 

" 'Sh ! " exclaimed his father, who knew 
that it would never do to help a young 
bird out of its shell. The elder child be- 
gan to cry. 

Well ! You can just imagine what kind 
of morning Mr. Cuckoo had. He had 
to quiet and feed the older child, clear 
away the broken shell when the second 
was out, keep the remaining egg warm, 



The Systematic Cuckoo 119 

get some food for himself, and just hurry 
and worry until noon. He was about 
worn out when his wife came back. She 
looked very trim and happy, and there 
was no ill-mannered haste in her motions 
as she flew toward the nest. 

14 1 have had such a pleasant morning,'' 
she said. 44 1 met my sister and we went 
hunting together. I hope you did not 
mind. I felt quite easy about everything. 
I knew that you would manage it all 
beautifully, because you are so system- 
atic." She looked at him with such a 
sweet smile that he did not say any of the 
things which he had been planning to say 
about mother-birds staying at home. 

Just then the elder nestling said, 44 I 'm 
hungry, Mother ! I have n't had a Cat- 
erpillar in ever so long." 

Mrs. Cuckoo answered cheerfully, 44 All 
right, I '11 get you one," and was about 
to start off when Mr. Cuckoo spoke up : 

44 You stay here and look after your 



120 Dooryard Stories 

newly hatched nestling/' said he. "I'll 
get some food." 

Mrs. Cuckoo was delighted to find an- 
other egg hatched, and the morning away 
had been a great rest to her. Only one 
thing troubled her. " I do wish," she 
murmured, " that I could have seen Mr. 
Cuckoo trying to do three or four things 
at once and be systematic. Now I shall 
never know how it worked." 

But she did know. Her first-hatched 
child said, ''I'm so glad you are back. 
It made Father cross to hurry." She 
also knew from another thing : Mr. 
Cuckoo never again told her to be sys- 
tematic, or said that it was ill-mannered 
to hurry. 

And that was the one day when Mr. 
Cuckoo did not make his two regular 
hunting trips through the maple trees 
around the big house. 



THE HELPFUL TUMBLE-BUGS 

TN the corner of the barnyard was a 
pile of manure which was to be put 
upon the garden and plowed in. This 
would make the ground better for all the 
good things growing in it, but now it was 
waiting behind the high board fence, and 
many happy insects lived in it. There 
were big Bugs and little Bugs, fat Bugs 
and slim Bugs, young Bugs and old Bugs, 
good Bugs and — well, one does not like 
to say that there were bad Bugs, but 
there were certainly some not so good as 
others. 

Among all these, however, there were 
none who worked harder or thought more 
of each other than the Tumble-bugs. 
One couple, especially, were thrifty and 



122 Dooryard Stories 

devoted. They had been married in 
June, when each was just one day old. 
June weddings were the fashion among 
their people. 

Mr. Tumble-bug believed in early mar- 
riages. " I have known Tumble-bugs," 
he said, "who did not marry until they 
were two days old, but I think that a 
great mistake. Each becomes so used to 
having his own way that it is very hard 
for husband and wife to agree on any- 
thing. Now Mrs. Tumble-bug and I 
always think alike." Then he smiled at 
Mrs. Tumble-bug and Mrs. Tumble-bug 
smiled at him. They were nearly always 
together and busy. Perhaps it was be- 
cause they worked together every day 
that they cared so much for each other. 
You know that makes a great difference, 
and if one had worked all the time while 
the other was playing, they would soon 
have come to care for other things and 
people, 



The Helpful Tumble-Bugs 123 

One hot summer morning, Mrs. Tum- 
ble-bug said to her husband, who was 
just finishing his breakfast, " I have found 
the loveliest place you ever saw for bury- 
ing an egg-ball. Do hurry up ! I can 
hardly wait to begin work." 

Mr. Tumble-bug gulped down his last 
mouthful and answered, " I 'm ready now." 

11 Follow me then," she cried, and led 
the way over all sorts of little things 
which littered up the ground of the barn- 
yard. No Horse was there just then, and 
she felt safe. Mr. Tumble-bug followed 
close behind her, and a very neat-looking 
couple they made. Both were flat-backed 
and all of shining black. " We do not 
dress so showily as some Bugs," they were 
in the habit of saying, " but black always 
looks well." And that was true. Al- 
though they spent most of their days 
working in the earth, they were ever clean 
and shining, with smiling, shovel-shaped 
faces. 



1 24 Dooryard Stories 

" There ! " said Mrs. Tumble-bug, as 
she stopped for breath and pointed with 
her right fore-leg to the ground just 
ahead of her. " Did you ever see a finer 
place ? " She could point in this way, you 
know, without falling over, because she 
had five other legs on which to stand. 
There are some very pleasant things about 
having six legs, and the only tumbling 
she and her husband did was part of 
their work. 

" Excellent ! " exclaimed Mr. Tumble- 
bug. " And the ground is so soft that 
it will not tire you very much to dig in 
it." He did not have to think whether 
it would tire him, because he never helped 
in that part of the work. His wife always 
liked to do that alone. 

Then both Tumble-bugs scurried back 
to the manure heap. " I cannot see why 
some of our neighbors are so foolish," 
said she. " There is a Beetle now, lay- 
ing her eggs right in this pile. She will 



The Helpful Tumble-Bugs 125 

leave them there, too, and as likely as 
not some hungry fellow will come along 
before the sun goes down and eat every 
one of them. She might much better 
take a little trouble, put her egg in a 
mass of food, and roll it away to a safe 
place for burial. When my children hatch 
out into soft little Grubs, I intend they 
shall have a chance to grow up safely 
and comfortably. Such Beetles do not 
deserve to have children." 

" Well, they won 't have many," said 
her husband. " Perhaps only a pitiful 
little family of twenty or thirty." 

" Now," exclaimed Mrs. Tumble-bug, 
"We must get to work. Help me roll 
this ball of manure. I have laid an egg 
in it while we were talking, so that time 
was not wasted." 

Together they rolled a ball which was 
bigger than both of them when it started, 
and grew larger and larger as they got 
it away from the heap and the dust of 



126 Dooryard Stories 

the ground stuck to it and crusted it 
over. 

Mrs. Tumble-bug stood on top of the 
ball, and, creeping far out on it, pulled 
it forward with her hind feet, while he 
stood on his head behind it and pushed 
with his hind legs. Of course if Mrs. 
Tumble-bug had not been climbing back- 
ward all the time, the ball would have 
rolled right over her. To pull forward 
with part of your legs and climb back- 
ward with all of them at the same time, 
and that when your head is a good deal 
lower than your heels, is pretty hard work 
and takes much planning. Mrs. Tum- 
ble-bug had very little breath for talking, 
but she did not lose her temper. And 
that shows what an excellent Bug she 
was. " Harder ! " she would call out to 
Mr. Tumble-bug. " We are coming to a 
little hill." 

Then Mr. Tumble-bug, who, you will 
remember, had to stand on his head all 



The Helpful Tumble-Bugs 127 

the time, and really did the hardest part 
of the work, would brace himself more 
firmly and push until it seemed as though 
his legs would break. He could never 
see just where they were going unless he 
let go of the ball, and Mrs. Tumble-bug 
did not believe in turning out for anything. 
"What if there is a hill?" she often 
said. " Can't we go over it ? " And over 
it they always went, although they might 
much more easily have gone around it. 
Mrs. Tumble-bug did not want anybody 
to think her afraid of work, and she knew 
her husband would have a chance to rest 
while she was burying the ball. Once in 
a while, when the ball came down sud- 
denly on the farther side of a twig or 
chip, it rolled quite on top of her, and 
Mr. Tumble-bug would be greatly alarmed. 
Some people thought this served her quite 
right for insisting that they should go 
over things instead of around them. Still, 
one hardly likes to say a thing like that. 



128 Dooryard Stories 

If it were much of a hill, she would 
climb down from the ball and talk with 
him. Then they would put their shovel- 
shaped heads together under the back 
side of the ball, and, pushing at the same 
time, send it over. " Two heads are bet- 
ter than one," they would say, " and this 
needs a great deal of head-work." 

At last the ball had reached the spot 
where they intended to have it buried. 
Both were hot and tired. 4< Many legs 
make light work," said Mrs. Tumble-bug, 
as she carefully cleaned hers before eat- 
ing dinner, "and if there is anything I 
enjoy, it is finishing a good job like 
this ! " 

Mr. Tumble-bug sighed heavily and said 
he thought he would go for a walk with 
some of his friends that afternoon. " All 
work and no play would make me a dull 
Bug," said he. Then he called out " Good- 
by " to his wife, and told her not to work 
too hard. 



The Helpful Tumble-Bugs 129 

Mrs. Tumble-bug looked after him lov- 
ingly. " Now, is n't he good ? " she said 
to herself. " There are not many Bugs 
who will help their wives at all, and most 
of them never look at an egg f much less 
see to getting it well placed," And that 
is true, for the Tumble-bugs are the model 
Bug fathers. 

Now, indeed, Mrs. Tumble-bug was at 
her best. She hurried down her dinner, 
taking mouthfuls which were much too 
large for good manners, and began plow- 
ing the earth around the ball as it lay 
there. She plowed so deep that some- 
times she was almost buried in the loose 
earth. At last she came up, took a good 
look around, knocked some grains of dust 
off her shining back, then dived in again 
upside down, and pulled the ball in after 
her by holding it tightly with her middle 
legs. All the time she was kicking the 
earth away with her two hind legs and 
her two front ones, which were stout dig- 



130 Dooryard Stories 

gers, so that little by little she sank deeper 
into the ground. 

She made a much larger hole for the 
ball than it really needed. " I might just 
as well, while I am about it," she said. 
" And I should so dislike to have any one 
think me afraid of work." 

At last she finished and crawled away, 
covering the place neatly over, so that 
nobody could see where she went in or 
out. " There ! " she said. " Now I am 
ready to play." 

A stray Chicken came along and she 
hurried under a chip to be safe. The 
Chicken was lost and calling to his mother. 
" Mother!" he cried. " Mother Hen, I 
want to get home and go to sleep under 
your wings." 

" Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Tumble- 
bug. " Is it time for Chickens to go to 
sleep ? " She looked through a crack in 
the fence and across the lawn to the big 
house. The shadows lay long upon the 



The Helpful Tumble-Bugs 131 

short grass. " It certainly is," she said. 
" And here I have spent all day burying 
that egg properly. I think it very strange 
that I cannot get more time for rest and 
play." So she had to eat her supper and 
go straight to bed to get rested for the 
next day's work. 

Mrs. Tumble-bug did not understand 
then, and perhaps never will learn, that if 
she would stop doing things in the hard- 
est way and begin doing them in the easi- 
est way, she might get a great deal of 
work done in a day and still have time to 
rest. If one were to tell her so, she 
might think that meant laziness, but it 
would not, you know. It is always worth 
while to make one's head save one's feet, 
and when a single head could save six feet 
it would certainly be worth while. Still, 
although Mrs. Tumble-bug never dreamed 
of such a thing, she probably enjoyed 
work about as much as her neighbors en- 
joyed play. 



SILVERTIP LEARNS A LESSON 

VOU may remember what a funny time 
* Silvertip had with the first Mouse 
he caught ; how he carried it so long in 
his mouth before daring to lay it down, 
and how frightened he was each time that 
it wriggled. That was because he was 
just beginning to hunt. Cats have to 
learn by doing things over and over, just 
like other people. He used to hear the 
Little Boy sing. 

If at first you do not try 
Try, try again. 

After a while he heard him sing. 

If at first you don't succeed 
Try, try again. 

He did not understand just what this 
meant, but he soon knew that Little Boys 

132 



Silvertip Learns a Lesson 133 

have to learn things quite as Cats do. 
He watched him afterward learning to 
turn summersaults, and saw him do just 
that and nothing else for nearly a whole 
afternoon. 

It was in some such way that Silvertip 
came to be a good hunter. He used to 
spend whole hours under the low branches 
of some evergreen, crouching and spring- 
ing at every passing bird. In summer he 
crawled through the wheat-field back of 
the house, looking for Mice. If he found 
nothing better, he caught Moles, although 
he never ate them. He thought that 
Moles were probably made for Cats to 
practice on, and that good little Cats, who 
did the best they could on Moles, would 
find Mice to catch after a while — if they 
were patient. 

When he could not find anything alive 
to hunt, he practiced on the dead leaves 
which were blown over the lawn, or chased 
empty spools across the kitchen floor. In 



134 Dooryard Stories 

the spring, when the Gentleman went out 
before breakfast to work in his garden, 
Silvertip played with the onion sets, chas- 
ing them down the narrow trench in which 
they had been placed, until the Gentleman 
had to carry him off and shut him up. 

This is how he became so fine a hunter, 
and it is perhaps not strange that after a 
while he grew conceited. You know what 
it means to be conceited. Well, Silvertip 
was so. He thought himself really the 
cleverest Cat that had ever lived, a Cat 
who could catch anything he tried to. 
He bragged to the other Cats who came 
around, and when he was alone he purred 
to himself about the fine things he could 
do. Now r people who think themselves 
clever are not always conceited, for some- 
times they are as clever as they think. 
But when a person is always thinking and 
talking about what he can do, you watch 
him to see if he does as well as he thinks. 
If not, then he is conceited. 



Silvertip Learns a Lesson 135 

Silvertip even used to climb nearly to 
the top of the tall maple-trees after Black- 
birds, and crouch there, switching his tail, 
yet he never caught any. When the other 
Cats asked him about this, he would smile, 
and say that he decided not to eat any 
more just then, or that he had found that 
Blackbirds disagreed with him. Undoubt- 
edly these excuses were both true, still 
they did not keep him from trying again 
and again. 

The only Blackbird he ever caught was 
a young one who had disobeyed her mother 
and flopped away from the tangle of rose- 
bushes where she had been told to stay. 
She was dreadfully punished for it — but 
then it was very wrong for her not to 
mind her mother. If she had staved 
where she was, the thorns would have 
kept Cats away. 

Silvertip had been in the big house 
nearly a year, when Mr. Chipmunk came 
to live in the yard. He chose to burrow 



136 Dooryard Stories 

under the open shed which ran along by 
the back fence, and under which wood was 
piled to dry before it was split and carried 
into the wood-house. He was the first 
Chipmunk who had ever lived on the 
place, and all his new neighbors were 
much interested in him. 

"Shall you bring your family here?" 
Mr. Robin asked him, as he watched his 
own children caring for themselves. Mr. 
Robin had worked hard all summer, and 
now he was enjoying a little visiting time 
before starting south. 

" My family ?" answered Mr. Chip- 
munk, with a chuckling laugh. " No, in- 
deed ! One is company and two is crowd 
with Chipmunks. Of course mothers have 
to live with their children for a time, but 
fathers always have holes to themselves." 

Mr. Robin did not think that right, yet 
he kept still. He knew that it is not 
always wise or polite to say all that one 
thinks. He thought it was not fair to 



Silvertip Learns a Lesson 137 

make the mothers have all the care of the 
children. There is great difference in 
animals about this. 

Mr. Chipmunk began at once to dig his 
burrow. He had not seen Silvertip yet, 
and did not know that there was a Cat 
around. He began just in front of the 
woodpile, and when he had enough earth 
loosened to fill his cheek-pockets, he 
brought it out and emptied it by the 
doorway of his burrow. Quite a pile was 
there already when Silvertip came walking 
past. 

" Meouw ! " said he. " What sort of 
creature is at work here ? " 

Mr. Chipmunk heard his voice, and 
lay still in his burrow. If Silvertip had 
not spoken just then, this story might end 
very differently. In fact, it would proba- 
bly be ended already. "A Cat!" said 
he. " Well, it is always something, and it 
might as well be a Cat as a Dog. He 
won't be so likely to dig me out, anyway." 



138 Dooryard Stories 

After a long time he turned around, 
and went quietly toward the door-way 
of the burrow, just far enough to see 
who was there. What he saw was a 
white face with tiger spots and a pink 
nose. Long white whiskers stuck out on 
either side, and the nose was twitching. 
Silvertip was trying to get a good smell 
of the new-comer. 

Mr. Chipmunk did not move, and being 
brown and in the darkness of the hole, 
Silvertip, who stood in the sunshine, could 
not see him. For a long time neither 
moved. Then Silvertip walked slowly 
away. He was not very hungry that 
morning. Mr. Chipmunk always believed 
in keeping still as long as possible. " If 
the other fellow is the larger," said he, 
" always wait to see what he is going 
to do. Then you can decide better what 
you should do." 

After this Silvertip came often to the 
burrow. He learned the Chipmunk by 



Silvertip Learns a Lesson 139 

smell loner before he saw him. When at 
last he did see him, Mr. Chipmunk was 
perched on a low r stick of wood, with his 
small fore paws clasped on his breast and 
his beautiful fur glistening in the sun- 
shine. He was facing Silvertip, so the 
Cat did not see the five dark stripes on 
his back till later. 

Silvertip crouched and tried his mus- 
cles by shaking himself a little. He did 
not say that it was a pleasant day, or that 
he was glad to become acquainted with 
Mr. Chipmunk. He did not even say, 
" I see you are making a new home ! " 
He was sure this was the little creature 
whom he had been smelling for several 
days, and he saw no use in saying any- 
thing. He meant to eat Mr. Chipmunk, 
and Mr. Chipmunk understood it. There 
was really nothing to be said. Mr. Chip- 
munk might object to being eaten. People 
usually did object to it, but Silvertip saw 
no sense in talking it over. He would 



140 Dooryard Stories 

rather have no conversation whatever at 
meals than to speak of disagreeable things 
or to quarrel. 

Mr. Chipmunk did not care to talk, 
either. He believed in thinking before 
you speak, and he had a great deal of 
thinking to do just then. A team stopped 
by the gate of the driveway. Mr. Chipmunk 
dared not look to see what was coming. 
Silvertip did not look until the Milkman 
was near him carrying the milk bottles. 
Then he gave one quick upward glance. 
When he looked back, the stick of wood 
was there, but Mr. Chipmunk was gone. 

Silvertip was not at all happy, and he 
felt still worse when Mr. Chipmunk stuck 
his saucy little face out of the burrow and 
called, "Chip-r-r-r! Milk is better for 
Cats anyway, you know ! " Mr. Chip- 
munk did not have to stop to think when 
he was in his hole. 

That was the beginning of the acquaint- 
ance, and a very merry one it was for Mr. 



Silvertip Learns a Lesson 141 

Chipmunk. " I have to be hunted any- 
way," he said, " so I might as well have 
some fun out of it," 

Whenever he saw Silvertip having an 
especially comfortable nap, he would run 
near and give his chirping, chuckling 
laugh. Then he would run away. Some- 
times he would stand as still as a stone, 
with his tiny fore paws clasped on his 
breast. Silvertip would creep and crawl 
up close to him, and he would act too 
scared to move. Then, just as Silvertip 
was ready to spring, he would cry out, 
" Chip-r-r-r ! " and tumble heels over head 
into his burrow. 

Sometimes, too, Silvertip would be 
walking along as happily as possible, not 
even thinking of Chipmunks, when a mis- 
chievous little face would peep out from 
the woodpile just beside him. Mr. Chip- 
munk would say " Good-morning !" then 
draw back and disappear, only to peep 
out again and again from new places as 



142 Dooryard Stories 

the Cat came along. You know nothing 
can catch a Chipmunk when he is in a 
woodpile. The worst of it was that there 
always seemed to be so many other peo- 
ple around to see how poor Silvertip was 
teased. You would never have thought 
that Silvertip was hunting Mr. Chipmunk. 
It always seemed to be Mr. Chipmunk 
who was hunting Silvertip. 

At last Mr. Chipmunk had his burrow 
all done. He had made an opening at 
the second end and closed the one at the 
first, so nobody could tell from the pile of 
earth what had been happening. He said 
he had crawled into the hole and pulled it 
in after him. The last opening, which 
was now to be his only door, was under 
the woodpile. No rain could fall into it 
and no Dog could dig at it. Mr. Chip- 
munk was very happy. 

He made friends with the Lady, too. 
She seemed to be perfectly harmless, and 
she brought him a great deal of corn and 



1 '■ ' I 




...:,. .■■■ 







mM 




MR. CHIPMUNK ON THE WOODPILE. 



Pa°e 142 



Silvertip Learns a Lesson 143 

many peanuts. Sometimes he found but- 
ternuts tucked around in the woodpile, 
which could not possibly have fallen from 
any tree. He decided that he might 
come to some sort of agreement with Sil- 
vertip. He got ready for it by being 
more annoying than ever. When Silver- 
tip's tail was switching and his nose twitch- 
ing with anger, Mr. Chipmunk peeped out 
from a hollow stick in the pile and called 
to him. 

" Silvertip ! " cried he, " O Silvertip! 
I want to talk with you. How would you 
like to be eaten up ? " 

There was no answer, except a mur- 
muring under his breath that he " guessed 
there was n't much danger." 

" Enjoy the acquaintance, do you, Sil- 
vertip?" asked Mr. Chipmunk. "Find 
me a pleasant talker ? Ever tell anybody 
that you were going to eat me ? " 

Now Silvertip had told some of his 
friends exactly that, but this was before 



144 Dooryard Stories 

he knew so much about Chipmunks. He 
growled something under his breath about 
" Quit your teasing." 

" I will if you will quit trying to catch 
me," answered Mr. Chipmunk. " Tell 
your friends that you changed your mind. 
Tell them that I am not to your taste. 
Tell them anything you wish, but let me 
alone and I will let you alone." 

" All right," said Silvertip. " Now 
don't you ever speak to me again." 

" Never ! " answered Mr. Chipmunk. 
" Walnuts could n't hire me to ! " And 
after that there was peace around the 
woodpile. 




THE ROBINS' DOUBLE BROOD 

TPHE Robins who nested on the west- 
* side second-story window-ledge had 
four as good children as you would care 
to see. They were healthy nestlings, 
brought up to mind and to eat what was 
given to them without fussing. If, for any 
reason there came a time when they had 
to go without for a while, they were good- 
natured then also. Their parents had 
raised other broods the year before, and 
had learned that it is not really kind to 
children to spoil them. 

" You must never forget," Mrs. Robin 
used to say, "that your father is your 
father and your mother is your mother. 
If it were not for us, you would not be 
here at all, and if it were not for us you 

145 



146 Dooryard Stories 

would have nothing to eat now that you 
are here. Little birds should be very 
thoughtful of their parents." 

When it was bedtime, and the young 
Robins wanted to play instead of going to 
sleep, their father would often leave the 
high branch where he was singing his 
evening song and come over to talk to 
them. When he did this he did not scold, 
but he looked so grave that each child 
listened to every word. " Your mother," 
he would say, "has been busy all day, 
hunting Worms for you and flying up to 
the nest with them. Now she is tired, 
and would enjoy perching on a branch and 
sleeping alone, but because that would 
leave you cold and lonely she is willing 
to sleep in the nest and cover you with 
her soft feathers. Do you think it is fair 
for you to keep her awake ? " 

Then all the little Robins would hang 
their heads and murmur, " No, Father." 

" What are you going to do about it ? " 



The Robins' Double Brood 147 

would be the next question. And then 
the little Robins never failed to raise their 
heads and answer, " We will be good and 
not say a word." 

Mrs. Robin often said that there would 
be more happy mothers in the world if 
their children took as good care of them 
as her nestlings took of her. " They 
have to be reminded/' she said, " because 
they are so young, but when they have 
been told the right thing to do, they 
always do it." The Catbird, however, 
who was a very shrewd fellow, said he 
thought it was not so much what their 
father said to them that made them good, 
as what they saw him do. He was always 
kind to Mrs. Robin himself, you know, 
and spoke gently, and left the biggest 
Worms for her to eat, so his children felt 
sure that this was the right way. 

Mrs. Robin, too, was always polite to 
her husband. She spoke pleasantly of 
him to the children, and if he had any 



148 Dooryard Stories 

faults she did not talk about them. The 
little Robins were certain that they had 
the finest father in the world, and meant 
to be exactly like him when they grew up. 
That is, the sons did. The daughters 
meant to be like their mother. 

When the little Robins' tail-feathers 
were about as long as fir needles, they 
were surprised to find a beautiful blue 
egg in the nest beside them. " Is it for us 
to play with ? " they asked their mother. 
" Did we come out of eggs like that? 
Why is this here ? " 

Then their wise and gentle mother 
stood on the ledge beside the nest and 
talked to them. She was a busy bird, 
you know, but she always said that it took 
no longer to answer children's questions 
than it did to tell them over and over 
again to keep still. 

" Each of you came out of just such an 
egg as that," she said. " This one is here 
because I had it ready to lay, and there 



The Robins' Double Brood 149 

was no other good place to put it. You 
may play with it very carefully, and be 
sure not to push it out of the nest, for 
then it would fall on the porch roof and 
break. You may take turns lying next to 
it, and before long I will lay another, so 
you can all be next to an egg at the same 
time.'' 

" What are you going to do with them ? " 
asked the Oldest Nestling. " What will 
become of them when we are old enough 
to leave the nest ? " 

11 That is the loveliest part of it," an- 
swered their mother. " I shall hatch these 
eggs, too, and then you can have baby 
brothers and sisters, perhaps both." 

" But who will take care of us ? " asked 
the Youngest Nestling, and she looked as 
though she wanted to cry when she spoke. 

" Don't you worry, little Robin," said 
her mother cheerfully. " There are al- 
ways enough people to do the things which 
have to be done, if they will only keep 



1 50 Dooryard Stories 

sweet and not make a fuss. We will all 
help each other and everything will come 
out beautifully. This is the first time I 
ever laid the eggs for the second brood 
before the first brood was out of the nest, 
but we shall manage. Besides," she 
added, " I believe you are the first little 
Robins I ever knew who had a chance to 
help hatch eggs before being grown up. 
Won't that be fine ? " 

Mrs. Robin looked so bright and happy 
as she spoke that her children were sure 
it was going to be great fun, and one and 
all chirped back, " Oh, let 's ! We '11 hatch 
them just as hard as we can." 

Mrs. Robin fixed them with the new 
egg in the middle of the nest, and went 
off to help their father find dinner for 
them. After they had been fed with about 
fifteen Worms, she laid the second egg. 
"That will be all for this brood," she 
said, " and perhaps it is just as well. Too 
many eggs would crowd the nest." 



The Robins' Double Brood 151 

Then she told them what wonderful 
things eggs are ; how what is going to be 
the young bird is at first only a tiny, soft, 
stringy thing, floating around inside the 
shell, with a ball of yellow food-stuff in 
the middle of the shell and clear white 
stuff all around it. She told them, too, 
how this little thing which is to be a bird 
floats on top of the other stuff, and so is 
always next to the mothers breast as she 
sits over it on the nest " It is the being 
warm for a long time and all the time that 
changes it into a bird strong enough to 
break the shell. You will remember that, 
won't you," said she, "and keep the top 
side of the eggs warm when I am not 
here?" 

All the little birds were sure that they 
could, and very proud to think that she 
would trust them so. Perhaps if she had 
said,, ' Now, don't you let me catch you 
leaving those eggs uncovered ! " they 
might have murmured to each other, 



152 Dooryard Stories 

" What do we care about her old eggs ? 
Let them get cold ! " It is a great pity, 
you know, when people in families get to 
talking in that way. And the worst of it 
is that every time one person speaks so, 
another is almost sure to answer in the 
same way. 

Now the Robin family were all care- 
takers, and when Mrs. Robin flew up with 
choice Worms for her children, she gave 
them loving glances, and said, "You are 
such helpers ! I don't know how I could 
get along without you." 

Mr. Robin, too, remarked every now 
and then that it made him happy to see 
how thoughtful they were of their mother. 
After he had said these things, the chil- 
dren always stretched themselves, so that 
they might look as big as they felt. 

With four growing children besides the 
two eggs in the nest, it soon became very 
much crowded. Mr. and Mrs. Robin 
talked it over while hunting; in the gar- 



The Robins' Double Brood 153 

den, where the Hired Man was spading. 
After they had fed the children whole 
billfuls of Worms, which they had found 
wriggling there on top of the ground, Mr. 
Robin said : " Now, if you will keep very 
still and not interrupt, I will tell you 
some good news." 

When all was quiet, he said : " I shall 
take you out into the great world to- 
morrow. I shall teach you to fly, to 
perch on branches, and to hunt for your- 
selves." 

" Oh goody! " cried all the little Robins 
together. Then they remembered how 
stubby their wings and tails still were, 
and wondered how they could ever get to 
the ground. u Won't we tumble some?" 
they asked doubtfully. 

"You may tumble some," answered 
their father, " but is n't it worth a tumble 
to get out into the world ? Mother will 
stay up here and finish hatching the eggs 
while I am with you, and we will stay 



154 Dooryard Stories 

near enough for her to see how fast you 
learn." 

You can imagine how excited the 
young Robins were then. They talked 
so much that day that not one of them 
took a nap, and if their mother had not 
insisted upon it, they would not have 
quieted down at sunset. 

Early the next morning their parents 
helped them to the ground. First they 
tumbled, fluttered, and sprawled to the 
porch roof below the nest. Then when 
they had rested, they tumbled, fluttered, 
and sprawled to the tops of the sweet- 
briar bushes underneath. There they 
clung until after breakfast, while their 
father hunted for them and their mother 
sat on the eggs above. If they had not 
been taught to mind, it would have been 
much harder. As it was, when their pa- 
rents said, " Flutter your wings ! Get 
ready! Fly! " they did the very best they 
could at once. And that is exactly the 



The Robins' Double Brood 155 

way children must do if they wish to 
grow strong and help themselves. 

There never were such plump, cheerful, 
and obedient little Robins as these. Their 
father had them stay in the lower branches 
of the fir tree, within sight of the nest, 
and the mother watched them while he 
was hunting, and called down comforting 
things to them. When they had tumbles 
in trying to fly, she would say: " Never 
mind! Pick yourselves up! Robins must 
tumble before they can fly. After awhile, 
when I have finished hatching these eggs, 
you can come right up to this window 
ledge and see the babies/' 

Then the little Robins would try harder 
than ever, for they were already proud of 
the babies to be hatched, since they had 
helped keep the eggs warm. 

Sometimes Silvertip would stroll around 
the corner of the house, and Mrs. Robin 
would be so scared that she could hardly 
scream " Cat ! " Yet she always managed 



156 Dooryard Stones 

to do it in some way, and all the other 
Robins would help her. Then the Lady, 
who was almost always writing or sewing 
at the sitting-room window, within sight 
of the nest, would drop her work and run 
out the nearest door, pick up Silvertip, 
and carry him inside. There he would 
stand, with his nose pressed against the 
screen and his tail switching angrily. 

The Lady seemed to understand Rob- 
ins. When they only cried " Trouble!" 
she did not move, knowing it was some- 
thing she could not help, but when they 
cried, " Cat ! Cat!" she always hurried 
out. Sometimes, though, it was the 
Gentleman who came, and sometimes the 
Little Boy. Mrs. Robin often said that 
she was sure she could never raise chil- 
dren so well in any other place as here, 
in spite of Silvertip's being around. 

Every day the young Robins were larger 
and stronger, and their tail-feathers were 
better grown. When at last the joyful 



The Robins' Double Brood 157 

time came for the two babies to chip the 
shell, every one of the four children 
managed to get up to the window ledge 
to see them. It was a hard trip, and 
they had to try and try again, and rest 
between times. They were not all there 
at once, but oh, it was a happy, happy time ! 

The mother told the babies how their 
big brothers and sisters had helped hatch 
them, and the father told the mother how 
beautifully she had managed everything. 
Then the mother told him how faithfully 
he had worked, and they both told the 
older children how proud they were of 
them. Everybody said lovely things to 
everybody else, and the best part of it 
was that all these lovely things were true. 

The babies were too little to talk much, 
but they stretched their necks up lovingly 
and sleepily to all the family, and acted 
as though they really understood how 
many people had been loving and working 
for them, even before they were hatched, 



THE SPARROWS INSIDE THE 
EAVES 

^\NE does not like to say such things, 
^-^ but the English Sparrows were 
very disagreeable people. And they are 
very disagreeable people. Also, they 
always have been, and probably always 
will be, very disagreeable people. They 
were the first birds to make trouble among 
neighbors anywhere around the big house. 
If it had not been that the Gentleman 
who lived there was so very tender- 
hearted, their nests would probably have 
been poked down with poles long before 
the eggs could have been laid in them. 
When Boys came around with little rifles 
and ugly looking bags slung over their 
shoulders, they were always ordered away 

158 



The Sparrows Inside the Eaves 159 

and told that the Gentleman would have 
no shooting near his house. 

It is not strange then that the wood- 
bine was full of Sparrows' nests, and that 
many of the evergreens also bore them 
in their top branches. One had even 
been tucked in behind a conductor pipe, 
and their owners hunted and argued and 
fussed all over the place. There was 
just one way in which the English Spar- 
rows were not cared for like other birds 
around the big house. Silvertip was 
allowed to eat all that he could catch. 
And you may be very sure that no Robin 
ever called " Cat ! " when he was ready 
to spring upon a Sparrow. 

" It may be wrong," said one Robin 
mother, "but I cannot do it. I remember 
too well how they have robbed my nests 
and quarrelled with my friends. I say 
that they must care for their own chil- 
dren. And if they do not— well, so much 
the better for Silvertip ! " 



160 Dooryard Stories 

You see that the birds were not angry 
at Silvertip for trying to eat them. It 
was all to be expected, as they knew very 
well. It was not pleasant, but it had 
to be, just as Worms and Flies had to 
expect to be eaten, unless they were 
clever enough to keep out of the way 
of birds. Only the quickest and strong- 
est could live, so of course all the young 
ones tried hard to become quick and 
strong. 

When Miss Sparrow, from the nest be- 
hind the conductor pipe, was old enough 
to marry, she had many lovers, and that 
was quite natural. She was a plump and 
trim-looking bird, and pretty, too, if one 
came close enough to her. Her feathers 
were gray and brown, with a little white 
and black in places. Her bill was black, 
and her feet were brown. She was very 
careful to keep clean, and although she 
had to hunt food in the mud of the street, 
she bathed often in fine dust and kept her 



The Sparrows Inside the Eaves 161 

wings and tail well up. Her lovers were 
dressed in the same colors, but with more 
decided markings. 

Her parents were very clever to think 
of building where they did ; and because 
they had such a large nest and so near the 
eaves of the house, they were much looked 
up to by the other Sparrows. They were 
very proud of their home, and especially 
on days when the water running down the 
pipe made a sweet guggle-guggle-guggling 
sound. Sparrows like noise, you know, 
and this always amused the children and 
kept them quiet on rainy days. 

All the young Sparrows who were not 
already in love, and a few who were, began 
to court Miss Sparrow as soon as it was 
known that she cared to marry. This 
was partly on her own account, and partly 
because of her distinguished family. 

Some birds would have waited for their 
suitors to speak first about marriage. 
Miss Sparrow did not. The Sparrows 



1 62 Dooryard Stories 

are not very well bred. " Of course I am 
going to marry," she said. " I am only 
waiting to make up my mind whom I will 
choose." 

They flocked around her as she fed in 
the dust of the road, all talking at once 
in their harsh voices. When a team passed 
by, and that was not often, they flew or 
hopped aside at the last minute. When 
they settled down again there was always 
a squabble to see who should be next to 
Miss Sparrow. Her lovers fought with 
each other over choice seeds, but they let 
Miss Sparrow have everything she wished. 
She always seemed very cross when her 
lovers were around (as well as most of 
the time when they were not), and often 
scolded and pecked at them. Sometimes 
one who was not brave, and would not 
stand pain, flew away and began courting 
somebody else. 

After a while she had driven away so 
many that only two were left. She flew 



The Sparrows Inside the Eaves 163 

at these, striking first one and then the 
other, until, brave as they were, one went 
away. Then she turned to the suitor who 
was left with a sweet smile. " I will 
marry you," she said. 

His wings were lame from her fighting 
him, his head smarted where she had 
picked at it, and two or three small feathers 
were missing from his breast. Miss Spar- 
row was certainly a strong bird, and he 
knew that anybody who wanted her would 
have to stand just what he had stood. 
He would have preferred to court as the 
Goldfinches and Wrens do, by singing to 
their sweethearts, but that could not be. 
In the first place, he could not sing, and 
in the second place she would not have 
taken him until she had beaten him any- 
way. It would have been more fun for 
him to fight some of the other birds and 
let the winner have her, yet that could not 
be done either. If he wanted to marry, 
he had to marry an English Sparrow, and 



164 Dooryard Stories 

if he wanted to marry an English Sparrow 
he had to go about it in her way. It 
would have been just the same if he had 
courted her sister or her cousin. 

The truth is that, although the Spar- 
row husbands swagger and brag a great 
deal and act as though they owned every- 
thing in sight, there is not one whose 
wife does not order him around. Miss 
Sparrow would not have taken him if she 
had not made sure that she could whip 
him. 

"What do I need of a husband," she 
said, " unless he will mind me ? And 
when I feel crosser than usual I want 
somebody always near and at home, where 
I can treat him as I choose. That is 
what I care for in a home." 

" Now," she said, " if you are to be my 
husband, I will show you where we are to 
build." 

Mr. Sparrow flew meekly along after 
her. You would be meek with lame 



The Sparrows Inside the Eaves 165 

wings, a sore head, and three feathers off 
from your breast. She led the way to 
the front west porch, where the syringa 
shoots made a little hedge around it and 
a tall fir tree made good perching places 
beside it. 

" Where are we going to build ? " 
asked Mr. Sparrow. He saw plenty of 
good window ledges and places which 
would do for Robins and Phoebes and 
other birds who plaster their nests. Yet 
he did not see a single corner or big 
crack where a Sparrow's nest could be 
made to hold together. 

" I will show you," answered Mrs. Spar- 
row. She perched on the top of a porch 
column and looked up at a small round 
hole nearly over her head. It was the 
place where a conductor pipe had once 
run through the cornice. Now the pipe 
had been taken away and the opening 
was left. She gave an upward spring 
and flutter and went straight up through 



1 66 Dooryard Stories 

the hole. " Come up ! " she cried in the 
most good-natured way. " Come up! 
This is the best place I ever saw. Our 
nest will be all hidden, and no large bird 
or Squirrel can possibly get in. The rain 
can never fall on it, and on cold days we 
shall be warm and snug." 

She did not ask him what he thought 
of it, and he did not expect her to. So 
he just said, " It is a most unusual place." 

"That is what I think," she replied. 
" Very unusual, and I would not build in 
the woodbine like some Sparrows. No, 
indeed ! One who has been brought up 
in style beside a water-pipe, as I was, 
could never come down to woodbine. It 
should not be expected." 

" I 'm sure it was not, my dear," said 
her husband. 

"Very well," said she. " Since you like 
this place so much, we may as well call it 
settled and keep still about it until we 
are ready to build." 



The Sparrows Inside the Eaves 167 

Mr. Sparrow had not said that he liked 
it, yet he knew better than to tell her so. 
If he did, she might leave him even now 
for one of her other lovers. He really 
dreaded getting out through that hole, 
and let her go while he watched her. 
She went head first, clinging to the rough 
edges of the hole with both feet, let go 
with one, hung and twisted around until 
she was headed right, then dropped and 
flew away. Mr. Sparrow did the same, 
but he did not like it. 

After a while they began nest-building, 
and all the straws, sticks, and feathers 
had to be dragged up through the little 
round doorway to the nest. Mrs. Spar- 
row did most of the arranging, while her 
husband flew in and out more than a hun- 
dred times a day. She was a worker. 
Any bird will tell you that. Still, you 
know, there are different ways of work- 
ing. Some of the people who do the 
most work make the least fuss. Mrs. 



1 68 Dooryard Stories 

Sparrow was not one of these. When 
she did a thing, she wanted everybody to 
know it, and since her building-place was 
hidden she talked all the more to Mr. 
Sparrow. 

" I am going to have a large nest," she 
said. " So bring plenty of stuff. Bring 
good things, too," she added. " You have 
brought two straws already that were 
really dirty, and this last stick is n't fit to 
use. I will push it back into a corner." 

Mr. Sparrow would have liked to tell 
her what hard work his was, and ask her 
to use things he brought, even if they 
were not quite what she wanted. He 
was too wise for this, however, so he flew 
out and pitched into another Sparrow who 
was getting straws for his wife. He tried 
to steal his straw, and they fought back 
and forth until their wives came to see 
what was the matter and began fighting 
also. When they stopped at last, the 
straw had been carried away by a Robin, 



The Sparrows Inside the Eaves 169 

so neither had it. But they had had a 
lovely, loud, rough fight, and Sparrows 
like that even better than straw, so they 
all felt good-natured again. 

Twice Mrs. Sparrow decided to move 
her nest a little this way or a little that, 
and such a litter as she made when doing 
it ! Some of the best sticks fell down 
through the doorway, and the Lady swept 
them off the porch. Then Mrs. Sparrow 
scolded her. She was not afraid of a 
Lady. " She might have left them there/' 
she said. " I would have had my hus- 
band pick them up soon. Yesterday she 
had the Maid put some of her own horrid 
chairs and tables out here while they were 
cleaning, and I never touched them." 

Mr. Sparrow flew up with a fine Turkey 
feather. "It came from the Lady's dus- 
ter," he said. " I think it will give quite 
an air to your nest." 

44 Excellent ! " cried his wife. "Just 
wait until I get ready for it." He clung 



170 Dooryard Stories 

patiently by one foot to the doorway. 
When that was tired he changed to the 
other. When that was tired he perched 
on the top of the column. He was very 
hungry, and he saw some grain dropped 
from a passing wagon. 

" Hurry up, my dear !" he called. " It 
is past my dinner-time already." 

"Wait until supper then," cried his 
wife. " As if I had n't enough to do 
without thinking about your dinner 1 
Don't let go of it or it will be blown 
away." 

Then Mr. Sparrow lost his temper. He 
stuck that feather into a crack near by, 
and flew softly away to eat some grain. 
He thought he might be back in time to 
carry in the feather and his wife never 
know where he had been. Unfortunately, 
he got to talking and did not hear his 
wife call him. 

" Mr. Sparrow ! " said she. " Mr. Spar- 
row ! I am ready for that feather," 



The Sparrows Inside the Eaves 171 

When he did not answer, she put her 
head out of the doorway. There was the 
Turkey feather stuck into a crack, and in 
the road beyond was her husband eating 
happily with several of his friends. She 
looked very angry and opened her bill to 
speak. Then she changed her mind and 
flew quietly off the other way. She went 
straight to the Horse-block, where an- 
other old suitor was, the one who had 
come so near winning her. " Mr. Spar- 
row has disobeyed me," she said, " and is 
actually eating his dinner when he should 
be waiting by the nest to help me. I be- 
lieve that I ought to have married you, 
but better late than never. Come now." 

This was how it happened that when 
Mr. Sparrow's stomach was quite full, and 
he suddenly remembered his work, he flew 
back and found the Turkey feather gone. 
In the eaves overhead he heard Mrs. 
Sparrow telling somebody else what to 
do. He tried to force his way up there. 



172 Dooryard Stories 

Every time he was shoved back, and not 
very gently either. 

"You might better look for another 
home," said Mrs. Sparrow's voice. " I 
have found another husband, one who will 
help me as I wish. Good-by." 

That was the ending of Mr. Sparrow's 
first marriage. It was a very sad affair, 
and the birds talked of nothing else for a 
long time afterward. Some said that it 
served him exactly right, because he mar- 
ried to get into a fine family, when there 
were dozens of Sparrow daughters much 
prettier and nicer than the one he chose. 
There may have been something in this, 
for certainly if Mrs. Sparrow had not been 
so sure of finding another to take his 
place, she would not have turned him out 
in the way she did. It is said, however, 
that her second husband had a hard life 
of it. 



A RAINY DAY ON THE LAWN 

A A J HEN the sun rose, that morning 
Y * late in April, he tried and tried to 
look at the big house and see what was 
happening. All he could see was a thick 
gray cloud veil stretched between him 
and the earth, and, shine as hard as he 
might, not a single sunbeam went through 
that veil. 

When the Blackbirds awakened, they 
found a drizzling rain falling, and hurried 
on their waterproofs to get ready for a 
wet time. Blackbirds are always hand- 
some, yet they never look better than 
when it rains. They coat their feathers 
with oil from the pockets under their tails, 
as indeed all birds do, and then they fly 
to the high branches of some tall and 

173 



174 Dooryard Stories 

swaying tree and talk and talk and talk 
and talk. They do not get into little 
groups and face each other, but scatter 
themselves around and face the wind. 
This is most sensible, for if one of them 
were to turn his back to the wind, it would 
rumple up his feathers and give the rain- 
drops a chance to get down to his skin. 
When they speak, or at least when they 
have anything really important to say, 
they ruffle their own feathers and stand 
on tip-toe, but they ruffle them carefully 
and face the wind all the time. 

When the Robins opened their round 
eyes, they chirped cheerfully to each other 
and put on their waterproofs. " Good 
weather for us," they said. "It will make 
fine mud for plastering our new nests, 
and it will bring out the Worms." 

The English Sparrows, Goldfinches, 
and other seed-eaters were not made 
happy by the rain. With them it was 
only something to be borne patiently and 




"O MOTHER, IT IS RAINING I" 



Page 175 



A Rainy Day on the Lawn 175 

without complaining. The Humming- 
birds found fewer fresh blossoms open on 
cloudy days, and so had to fly farther and 
work harder for their food. The Pewees 
and other fly-catchers oiled their feathers 
and kept steadily at work. 

The birds had not awakened so early 
as usual, because it was darker. They 
had hardly got well started on their break- 
fast before a sleepy little face appeared at 
the window of the big house and a sleepy 
little voice called out : " O Mother, it is 
raining ! I did n't want it to rain." 

11 Foolish ! Foolish ! Foolish ! " chirped 
the Robins on the lawn. " Boys would 
know better than to say such things if 
they were birds." 

" Boys are a bother, anyway," said an 
English Sparrow, as he spattered in the 
edge of a puddle. " I wish they had never 
been hatched." 

" Ker-eeeee ! " said a Blackbird above 
his head. " I suppose they may be of 



176 Dooryard Stories 

some use in the world. I notice that the 
Gentleman and the Lady seem to think 
a great deal of this one, and they are 
a very good sort of people." 

" I 'd like them better if they did n't 
keep a Cat," said his brother. " Their 
Cat is the greatest climber I ever saw. 
He came almost to the top of this maple 
after me yesterday, and I have seen him 
go clear to the eaves of the big house on 
the woodbine." 

" That is because the Sparrows live 
there," said Mr. Wren. " He went to see 
their children. Silvertip says that he is 
very fond of children — they are so much 
more tender than their parents." Mr. 
Wren could laugh about this because his 
own children were always safely housed. 
Besides, you know, he had reason to dis- 
like Sparrows. 

" I would not stay here," said a Spar- 
row who had just come up, " if the peo- 
ple here were not of the right sort. They 



A Rainy Day on the Lawn 177 

have mountain ash trees and sweetbrier 
bushes where birds find good feeding. 
And in the winter that Boy throws out 
bread crumbs and wheat for us." 

" Humph ! " said the Oldest Blackbird. 
" There is no need of talking so much 
about it. You can always tell what sort 
of people live in a place by seeing if they 
have a bird-house. If they have, and it is 
a sensible one, where a bird could live 
comfortably, they are all right." 

After that the birds worked more and 
talked less, for the Oldest Blackbird, 
while he was often grumpy and some- 
times cross, was really a very sensible bird, 
and what he had said was true. The Rob- 
ins went here and there over the lawn in 
quick, short runs, pausing once in a while 
with their heads bent forward and then 
pulling up choice Worms to eat. Some 
of their mouthfuls were half as long as 
they, but that was not rude in Robins. 
What they insist on in bringing up their 



178 Dooryard Stories 

children is that mouthfuls should not be 
too broad, and that they should not stop 
swallowing until all the Worm is out of 
sight. 

The Blackbirds hunted in a more dig- 
nified way. They never ran after food, or 
indeed after anything else. " If walking 
is not fast enough," the Blackbird 
mothers say, "then fly, but do not run." 
They walked in parties over the lawn and 
waggled their heads at each step. When 
they found Grubs they did not appear 
greedy, yet never a Grub escaped. 

" There are two ways of hurrying," they 
often said. " One is the jerky way and the 
other is our way, of being sure and steady. 
Of course our way is the better. You 
will see that we do just as much and make 
less fuss." 

Silvertip came to the edge of the porch 
and looked around. He was licking his 
lips, and every bird on the lawn was happy 
to see that, for it meant that he had just 



A Rainy Day on the Lawn 1 79 

finished his breakfast. His eyes gleamed 
and his tail waved stiffly as he saw the fat 
Robins so near. He even crouched down 
and took four short steps, quivering his 
body and trying his muscles. Then he 
remembered how wet the grass was and 
turned back with a long sigh. After all, 
his stomach was full and he could afford 
to wait until the grass was dry. The 
Robins would be there then, and if they 
kept on eating Worms at this rate, 
they would be growing plump and juicy 
all the time. He began to lick himself 
all over, as every truly tidy Cat does after 
eating. By the time he had finished the 
tip of his tail he was sleepy, so he went 
into the kitchen and dozed by the fire. 

The front door opened with a bang, 
and the Little Boy stood there, shouting 
and waving a piece of red paper with a 
string tied to it. " See my kite!" he 
cried. " Whee-ee-ee ! " 

Five birds who had been feeding near 



180 Dooryard Stories 

flew off in wild alarm. " Now why did he 
do that?" asked one, after they had set- 
tled down elsewhere. Nobody answered. 
None but Little Boys understand these 
things, and even they do not always tell. 

The Lady came to the door behind him 
and helped him start away. He proudly 
carried a small new umbrella, and the 
precious kite fluttered out behind him. 
When he was outside the gate, he peeped 
through it and called back : " Good-by, 
Mother ! I'm going to school to learn 
everyfing. Til be a good Boy. Good-by ! " 
Then he ran down the walk with the 
umbrella held back over his shoulder and 
the rain falling squarely in his face. All 
that the birds could see of the Little Boy 
then was his fat legs bobbing along below 
the umbrella. 

" There ! " said all the birds together. 
" There ! Silvertip is asleep and the 
Little Boy has gone to school. Now we 
can take comfort." 



A Rainy Day on the Lawn 181 

When the morning was nearly past, and 
the birds felt so safe that they had grown 
almost careless, Silvertip wakened and 
felt hungry. He walked slowly out of 
the kitchen door and looked at the grass. 
The sun was now shining, and it was no 
longer sparkling with tiny drops. He 
crept down the steps and around to a 
place under a big spruce tree, the lower 
branches of which lay along the ground. 
A fat Robin was hunting near by. 

Silvertip watched her hungrily, and if 
you were a Cat you might have done 
exactly the same thing. So you must not 
blame Silvertip. He was creeping, creep- 
ing, creeping nearer, and never looking 
away from her, when the Little Boy came 
tramping across the grass. He had come 
in by the gate of the driveway, and was 
walking straight toward Silvertip, who 
neither saw nor heard him. 

Then the Little Boy saw what was 



1 82 Dooryard Stories 

happening, and dropped his bright paper 
chain on the grass beside him. " G'way ! " 
he cried, waving his umbrella. " Gway ! 
Don't you try to eat any birds 'round 
here. My father does n't 'low it. G'way ! 
G'way ! Else I'll tell my mother that you 
are a bad Cat." 

Silvertip fled under the porch, the 
Robin flew up onto the snowball bush, 
and all around the birds sang the praises 
of the good Little Boy with the umbrella. 
But the Little Boy didn't know this. He 
stood by the porch and dangled his pretty 
paper chain until Silvertip forgave him 
and came out to play. Then they ran 
together into the house, and the birds 
heard him shouting, " Mother ! Mother ! 
Where are you ? I want to give Silvertip 
some cream. He is so very hungry that 
he most had to eat up a Robin, only I 
would n't let him." 



THE PERSISTENT PHCEBE 

FT is not often that a Phoebe will nest 
anywhere except near running water, 
and nobody but the Phcebes themselves 
will ever know why this pair chose to 
build under a porch of the big house. 
When they came there on their wedding 
trip the other birds supposed that they 
were only visiting, and it was not until a 
Catbird heard them discussing different 
porches that any one really believed they 
might come there to live. 

Mrs. Phoebe was eager to begin at 
once, and could not pass a soft bit of moss 
or an unusually good blade of grass with- 
out stopping to look it over and think how 
she could weave it in. " I see no use in 
waiting," said she. " I know just as much 



184 Dooryard Stories 

about building now as I shall after awhile, 
and I should like a home of my own. It 
makes my bill fairly tingle to see all these 
fine grasses and mosses waiting to be used. 
And the worst of it is," she added, " that 
if we wait, some other bird may get them 
instead." 

Mr. Phoebe wanted to think it over a 
little longer. He was older than his wife 
and had been married before. " Phoebe ! " 
he would exclaim. " Wait a day. You 
know we are building by a house to please 
you, now wait one more day to please me." 

That, you see, was quite right and per- 
fectly fair, for it is not fair for one person 
to decide everything in a family, and it 
was right for the wife to wait as long as 
she could. She could not, of course, wait 
many days, for there were eggs to be laid, 
and when it was time for them, the nest 
had to be ready. Mr. Phoebe knew this 
and wasted no time. 

" We cannot build on a rock," said he, 



The Persistent Phoebe 185 

" because there are no rocks here, and we 
cannot build under a bridge because there 
is no bridge here. My other wife and I 
lived under a bridge." Then he stood 
silent for a long time and looked down at 
his black feet. When he spoke of his 
first wife he always seemed sad. The 
second Mrs. Phoebe had not liked this at 
first, but he was so good and kind to her, 
and let her have her own way so much 
more than some husbands would, that she 
had begun to feel happier about it. 

There is reason to think that she chose 
an unusual nesting-place just to see how 
far she could coax him out of his old ways. 
Perhaps, too, she thought that there would 
be less in such a place to remind him of 
his first wife. Another thing which had 
made her come to feel differently was re- 
membering that if he died or left her she 
would marry again. Then, you know, she 
might want to think and talk about her 
first husband. 



1 86 Dooryard Stories 

She was very proud of him, and watched 
him as he stood thinking. His upper 
feathers were deep brown, his under ones 
a dingy white, and the outer edges of 
some of his tail-feathers were light colored. 
His most beautiful features were his black 
bill and feet and the crest which he could 
raise on the top of his head. Mrs. Phoebe 
had the same coloring as her husband, yet 
she always insisted that he was the better 
looking of the two, while he insisted, as a 
good and wise husband should, that she 
was by far the handsomer. 

Now Mr. Phoebe was speaking. " We 
have decided to build on this house," said 
he, " and under a porch. Still, there are 
four large ones and we must find out which 
is the best. You feed on the shady side 
and I will feed on the sunny side of the 
house. Then we shall see how much 
these people use their porches." 

11 1 '11 do it," answered his wife, " but 
is n't it a pity that there are people living 



The Persistent Phoebe 187 

in this house? It would be so much 
pleasanter if it were empty." 

Mrs. Phoebe perched on a maple branch 
on the shady side and watched two porches. 
She thought she would like the front one 
the better, and had already chosen her 
window ledge, when she noticed a pair of 
English Sparrows dragging straws and 
feathers toward it and disappearing inside 
the cornice. " Not there," she said firmly, 
as she clutched the branch even more 
tightly with her pretty black feet. " I 
will not have quarrelsome neighbors, and 
I could never bring our children up to be 
good if the young Sparrows were always 
near, showing them how to be naughty." 
Then she darted after a Fly, caught and 
swallowed him, and was back on her perch. 

" I wonder how the back one would 
do?" she said. " There are no steps 
leading to it, and those sweetbrier bushes 
all around it would keep Boys from climb- 
ing onto the railing." 



1 88 Dooryard Stories 

She flew near and saw the Maid knead- 
ing bread by one window. A door stood 
open into the big kitchen, and through 
two other windows she could look into a 
pleasant dining-room. " I would n't mind 
that," she said. " If I have plenty to eat 
myself, I would just as soon see other peo- 
ple eating. We like different things any- 
way. I dare say those people never tasted 
an insect in their lives and do not even 
know the flavor of a choice Fly." Then 
she swallowed a careless Bug who had 
mistaken her for an English Sparrow and 
flown when he should have stayed hidden. 
Mrs. Phoebe was much interested in the 
nest, but not so much as to let an insect 
escape. Oh, never so much as that ! 

Mr. Phoebe watched the back porch on 
his side. Some Robins were building 
on a window-ledge there, which he thought 
exceeding imprudent. But then he was 
not surprised, for everybody knows how 
careless Robins are. That is why so 



The Persistent Phoebe 189 

many of them have to leave their nests — 
because they are built where no nest 
should be. Mr. Phoebe could tell at a 
glance that no bird should build there. 
Woodbine climbed over the pillars and 
fell in a thick curtain from the cornice, 
and beside the door stood a saucerful of 
milk. " That means a Cat," said he, " a 
Cat who stays on this porch most of the 
time and always comes here when he is 
hungry. And when he tires of milk he 
will climb up that woodbine and finish 
with young Robin. Or, perhaps," he 
added, " I should say that he will finish a 
young Pvobin." 

The front porch on his side was sun- 
shiny and quiet, but there was the wood- 
bine again, and with the Cat so near. He 
next looked at the portico over the front 
door. Under the roof of this was a queer 
shiny, thin thing with a loop of black 
thread hanging down in it. He tried to 
get the thread, but only hit and hurt his 



190 Dooryard Stories 

bill against the shiny, thin stuff. Then he 
remembered seeing a bright light in it the 
night before when he had been awakened 
by a bad dream. " That will never do," 
he said. " It is not good for children to 
sleep with a light near. One would want 
to be catching insects there, too," he 
added, " when he should be sleeping. 
There must be many drawn by the light/' 

So it ended in the couple building un- 
der the dining-room porch on the shelf-like 
top of a column. Mrs. Phoebe chose this 
instead of a window-ledge because from 
here she could look into the window while 
brooding her eggs. " You may laugh at 
me all you choose," said she to her hus- 
band, u for I did wish the house empty. 
Since it cannot be, however, I might as 
well see what the people in it do." 

" I was not laughing, my dear," an- 
swered her husband meekly (you remem- 
ber that he had been married before). 
" I was only smiling with pleasure at our 



The Persistent Phoebe 191 

fine nest. You have so much taste in ar- 
ranging grasses ! " 

That was the way in which the Phoebes 
began housekeeping. It was not always 
easy, sitting on the nest day after day as 
Mrs. Phoebe had to, with only a chance 
now and then to stretch her tired legs. 
She was even glad that people lived in 
the house. " It gives me something to 
think about," said she, " although I do 
get much out of patience with them some- 
times. Much they know about bringing 
up children! That Boy of theirs eats 
only three times a day. How can they 
ever hope to raise him unless he eats 
more ? Now, I expect to feed my chil- 
dren all the time, and that is the way to 
do." Here she darted away to catch a 
Fly who came blundering along. 

" It's a good thing for that Fly that I 
got him," she said, smilingly. " It saved 
him from being caught in the Spider's 
web over there, and I am sure it is much 



192 Dooryard Stories 

pleasanter to be swallowed whole by a 
polite Phoebe than to be nibbled at by a 
horrid Spider." 

Mr. Phoebe sometimes brought her a 
dainty morsel, but he spent much of his 
time by the hydrant. " There is not 
much chance to bathe," he said, as he 
wallowed around in the little pool beside 
it, " but it is something to smell water. 
You know we Phoebes like to fly in and 
out of ponds and rivers, even when we 
cannot stop for a real bath." His favor- 
ite perch was on the top of a tall pole 
covered with cinnamon vine, in the flower 
garden. Here he would sit for a whole 
morning at a time, darting off now and 
then for an insect, but always returning 
to the same place and position. He did 
not even face the other way for a change. 

The little Phcebes were hatched much 
like other birds, and were about as good 
and about as naughty as children usually 
are. Mrs. Phoebe was positive that they 



The Persistent Phoebe 193 

were remarkable in every way. Mr. 
Phoebe, having raised other broods, did 
not think them quite so wonderful, al- 
though he admitted that there was not 
another nestling on the place to compare 
with them. " Still," as he would modestly 
remark, "we must remember that we are 
the only Phoebes here, and that it is not 
fair to compare them with the young of 
other birds. You could not expect our 
neighbors' children to be as bright as 
they." 

Unfortunately there were only two lit- 
tle Phoebes, so each parent could give all 
his time to one. The mother cared for 
the son and the father for the daughter. 
When it was time for them to learn to 
catch their own Flies, these children did 
not want to do so. The father made his 
daughter learn, in spite of the fuss she 
made. He gave her his old perch on the 
cinnamon-vine pole, and told her that she 

must try to catch every insect that flew 
13 



194 Dooryard Stories 

past This was after she had been out of 
the nest several days, and had learned to 
use her feet and wings. 

" If you do not," he said, " I shall not 
feed you anything." When she pouted 
her bill, he paid no attention to it, and 
she soon stopped. There is no use in 
pouting, you know, unless somebody is 
looking at you and wishing that you 
would n't. Perhaps it was because he 
had brought up children before that Mr. 
Phoebe was so wise. 

Mrs. Phoebe meant to be very firm also, 
but when her son whimpered and said that 
he could n't, he knew he could n't, catch a 
single one, and that he was sure he would 
tumble to the ground if he tried it, she 
always felt sorry for him and said : " Per- 
haps you can to-morrow." Then she 
would catch food for him again. 

This is how it happened that, day after 
day, a plump and strong young Phoebe sat 
on a branch of the syringa bush and let 



The Persistent Phoebe 195 

his tired mother feed him. At last his father 
quite lost patience and interfered. " My 
dear/' he said to his wife, " I will be with 
our son to-day, and you may have a rest." 

" You are very kind," she replied, "but 
he is so used to having me that I think I 
might better " 

11 I said," interrupted her husband, " that 
I would be with our son to-day. I advise 
you to fly away with our daughter and 
show her something of the world." Mrs. 
Phoebe did not often hear him speak in 
that tone of voice. When he did, she 
always agreed with him. 

As soon as father and son were alone, 
the father said : " Now you are going to 
catch Flies before sunset. You have let 
your poor mother nearly work her feathers 
off for you. (Of course, feathers do not 
come off so, but this was his way of speak- 
ing.) She is very tired, and you are not 
to act like this again. There comes a 
Fly. Catch him ! " 



196 Dooryard Stories 

The young Phoebe made a wild dash, 
missed his Fly, and came back to the 
syringa bush whimpering. " I knew I 
could n't," he said. " I tried as hard as 
I could, but he flew away." 

"Yes," said his father. "You tried 
once, just once. You may have to try a 
hundred times before you catch one, but 
that is no reason why you should not try. 
Go for that Mosquito." 

The son went, and missed him, of course. 
This time he knew better than to talk 
about it. He just flew back to his perch 
and looked miserable. 

" I think you got a little nearer to this 
one," said his father. " Go for that Fly ! " 

The young Phoebe was kept darting 
here and there so often that he had no 
time to be sulky. Indeed, if people have 
to keep moving quite fast, they soon for- 
get to want to be sulky. At last he 
was surprised by his father's tucking a 
very delicious Bluebottle down his throat. 



The Persistent Phoebe 197 

" Just for a lunch," he explained. " Now 
try for that one." 

The son made a sudden lurch and flight, 
and actually caught him. It was a much 
smaller Fly than the one which his father 
had fed him, but it tasted better. He 
swallowed it as slowly as he could, so as 
to feel it going down as long as possible. 
Then he began to be happier. " Watch 
me catch that Mosquito," he said. And 
when he missed him, as he did, he made 
no fuss at all — only said : " I '11 get the 
next one ! " When he missed that he 
simply said : " Well, I '11 get the next one, 
anyhow ! " 

And he did. 

All day long he darted and failed or 
darted and succeeded, and more and more 
often he caught the insect instead of miss- 
ing him. 

When the long shadows on the lawn 
showed that sunset was near, his mother 
and sister came back. His mother had a 



198 Dooryard Stories 

delicious morsel for him to eat. "Open 
your bill very wide," she said, "you poor, 
tired, hungry child." 

He did open his bill, because a Phoebe 
can always eat a little more anyway, but 
he did not open it until he had said : 
" Why, I 'm not much tired, and I am not 
really hungry at all. You just ought to 
see me catch Flies ! " 

You can imagine how surprised his 
mother was. And in the tall fir tree near 
by he heard a Blackbird say something in 
a hoarse voice about a persistent Phoebe. 
But that did n't make much difference, 
because, you see, he did n't know what 
"persistent" meant, and if he had known 
he could not have told whether the Black- 
bird was talking about him or about his 
father. Could you have told, if you had 
been a Phoebe ? 



THE SAD STORY OF THE HOG 
CATERPILLAR 

'THE grape-vines on the trellis were 
* carefully pruned and tended, but 
that did not prevent a few Hog Cater- 
pillars of the Vine from making their 
home upon them. There were a number 
of other Hog Caterpillars on the place, 
and all expected to be Hawk Moths 
when they grew up. Sometimes they 
thought and talked too much about this, 
and planned too far ahead. They might 
better have thought more about being 
the best kind of Caterpillars. For some- 
times, when they were telling what great 
things they would do by-and-by, they 
forgot to do exactly as they should just 

then. 

199 



200 Dooryard Stories 

None of them knew when they got 
their name. Somebody who noticed their 
small heads and very smooth, fat, and 
puffy-looking bodies must have begun it. 
Perahps, too, this person thought that 
the queer little things sticking upward 
and backward from the end of their 
bodies looked like the tail of a Hog. 
Those who lived on grape-vines were 
called Hog Caterpillars of the Vine. 
Then, when their friends spoke of them, 
people knew at once to what family they 
belonged. 

If you were to look closely at a Hog 
Caterpillar of the Vine, you would think 
him handsome. He has seven reddish 
spots along the middle of his back, every 
one set in a patch of pale yellow. On 
each side you would see a long green 
stripe with white edges, and below this 
you would find seven slanting white ones. 

When these Hog Caterpillars of the 
Vine were hatched, they were very, very 



Story of the Hog Caterpillar 201 

tiny, and had to feed and rest and change 
their skins over and over, just as all 
Caterpillars must. Of course when they 
changed their skins, they had nobody to 
help them, because their parents were 
Hawk Moths and never bothered with the 
care of children. They believed that Cat- 
erpillars should help themselves. " They 
will have plenty of time to play when 
they are grown up/' the Hawk Moths 
said, " and it is much better for children 
to have to change their own skins. If 
they do that, they will be more careful 
of their new ones, when they get them." 

There is a great deal in the way a child 
is brought up, and no Caterpillar ever 
says, " I can't do this ; " or, " Somebody 
must help me get off my old skin, so 
there!" No indeed! Caterpillars help 
themselves and make no fuss at all. 

This is not saying that they have no 
faults. It just means that this fault was 
not one of theirs. Perhaps their worst 



202 Dooryard Stories 

fault was bragging about what they were 
going to do. It was either that or care- 
lessness, and every now and then some 
one of them would be dreadfully pun- 
ished. With so many hungry birds 
around, Caterpillars should be very care- 
ful. One of those on the grape-vines 
laughed at a Robin for being afraid of 
Silvertip. Of course he did not expect 
to be heard by any except his relatives. 
He was, though, and as soon as Silvertip 
had walked off, the Robin came back 
and hunted for him and ate him. He 
was very, very sorry for his rudeness, and 
tried to wriggle out of it, when the Robin 
spoke about it, but he should have re- 
membered sooner. " I laughed before 
I thought," he said. " I 11 never do it 
again. Never ! Never ! " 

" Say nothing more about it," answered 
the Robin, who was noted for his polite 
ways ; " I am very^sure you won't" Then 
he swallowed him while he was talking. 



Story of the Hog Caterpillar 203 

The Catbird said that the Robin took 
in all that the Caterpillar was saying, but 
the other birds did n't quite understand 
what he meant by that. 

The oldest Hog Caterpillar of the Vine 
was always reckless. He would feed in 
plain sight in the sunshine if he wanted 
to, and he was forever telling what a fine 
Hawk Moth he expected to be. " If a 
bird comes after me," he would say, " I 
will just let go of the leaf and fall to the 
ground in a little round bunch. I can lie 
so quietly in the grass that he will never 
see me." He looked so haughty when 
saying this that none of his relatives 
dared to say a word, although a pretty 
young one wept quietly under her grape- 
leaf. He had been very attentive to her, 
and she wanted to marry him after they 
had changed into Moths. Such plans, 
you know, might be sadly upset by a 
hungry and sharp-sighted bird. 

Yet birds were not the only people to 



204 Dooryard Stories 

fear. The Ichneumon Wasps and their 
cousins the Braconids were always fly- 
ing around and looking for fat and juicy 
Caterpillars, and many a promising young 
fellow had been pounced upon by them. 
They were so much smaller and more 
quiet than the birds that they were really 
much more to be feared. His friends 
and relatives used to tell the oldest Hog 
Caterpillar to keep hidden from them, 
but he paid no attention. " Do you sup- 
pose/' said he, " that a fine fellow like me is 
going to sneak under leaves for a slender 
Ichneumon or a little Braconid ? Not I! " 
So it is not surprising that when a 
mother Braconid came along one day, 
looking for a good place to lay eggs, she 
saw him busily eating in the sunshine. He 
had just taken the sixth mouthful from 
an especially fine leaf when she alighted on 
him. " Don 't move ! " she said. " Your 
position is exactly right. Keep perfectly 
still and I shall soon be through." 



Story of the Hog Caterpillar 205 

The Hog Caterpillar of the Vine un- 
derstood every word she said, but he 
moved as fast as he could. Unfortu- 
nately, you know, his legs were all on 
the under side of his body, and were so 
stubby that he could not reach up to 
push her away. He did rub up against 
a leaf and brush her off for a minute, but 
she was right back and talking to him 
again. 

"You are very foolish to make such 
a fuss," she said. " You might better 
keep still and get it over. I have de- 
cided on you, and you can 't help your- 
self. Now hold still ! " 

There was only one other thing left for 
the poor Hog Caterpillar of the Vine to 
do. He let go of the grape leaf and fell 
to the ground. He had hardly struck it, 
however, when the Braconid was on his 
back. " No more nonsense," said she 
sternly. " You really make me quite out 
of patience, and I shall not wait any 



206 Dooryard Stories 

longer. I want to get my eggs laid and 
have some time for play." 

Then she ran her ovipositor, which is 
the tube through which insects lay their 
eggs, into his fat back and slipped an egg 
down through it. How it did hurt ! The 
poor Hog Caterpillar of the Vine squirmed 
with pain, and all the Braconid said was : 
" It would be much easier for me if you 
would lie quietly. Still, I am used to 
working under difficulties. . . . You 
won't mind it so after a while." Then she 
drew out her ovipositor, stuck it into an- 
other place, and laid another egg. 

Before she left him, the Braconid had 
laid thirty-five eggs in his body, and the 
Hog Caterpillar of the Vine was so tired 
with pain and anger that he could hardly 
move. Of the two, perhaps the anger 
tired him the more. He had time to do a 
great deal of thinking before he climbed 
onto the vine again. " I will be more 
careful after this," he said, "but I guess 



Story of the Hog Caterpillar 207 

there is n't any need of telling the other 
fellows what has happened. None of 
them were around when that dreadful 
Braconid came." 

When he was up on the vine again, one 
of his relatives said : " You look sick. 
What is the matter ? " And he answered : 
" Oh, I am rather tired. Guess this skin is 
getting too tight." 

The next day he felt quite well, but as 
time went on he grew worse and worse. 
He ate a great deal, yet he did not grow 
as he should, and the other Hog Caterpil- 
lars of the Vine began to talk about 
it. The truth was, you know, that the 
Braconid's thirty-five eggs had all hatched, 
and her children were eating up the poor 
Hog Caterpillar of the Vine. They were 
fat little Worms then, and when they were 
old enough to spin cocoons, they cut 
thirty-five tiny doors in his skin and spun 
their cocoons on the outside. 

Then all his relatives and friends knew 



208 Dooryard Stories 

what was the matter with him, for wher- 
ever he went he had to carry on his back 
and sides thirty-five beautiful little shining 
white cocoons. He did not think them 
beautiful, yet they were, and the Braconid 
mother looked at them with great pride 
as she flew past. 

" I should like to see them cut off the 
tiny round lids of their cocoons,'' she said, 
11 and fly away, but I suppose I shall not 
be around then. It is very hard not to 
have the pleasure of bringing up one's 
own children. Yet I suppose it is bet- 
ter for them, and one must not be selfish." 
She flew away with a very good, almost 
too good, look on her face. 

The Hog Caterpillar of the Vine was 
so tired that he died — what there was 
left of him. Really the Braconid babies 
had eaten most of him before spinning 
their cocoons. The only truly happy peo- 
ple around were the Braconid children, who 
came out strong and active the next day. 



Story of the Hog Caterpillar 209 

This is all a very, very sad story. It is 
true, though, and it had to be written, 
because there may still be some Hog 
Caterpillars of the Vine, or perhaps some 
other people, who will not take advice 
about what they should do, and so they 
come to trouble. 




THE CAT AND THE CATBIRD 

IT was late in the fall when Silvertip 
came to live in the big house, and he 
was then a very small kitten. All through 
the winter which followed, he was the pet 
of the Gentleman and the Lady, of the 
Maid, and of the people who came there 
to visit. He liked the Gentleman best 
and showed it very plainly, but that was 
only right, for it was the Gentleman, you 
know, who first brought him into the 
house. 

At night he slept on a red cushion in a 
basket in the kitchen, except when he 
made believe catch Mice with a spool for 
a Mouse. Sometimes, when the other 
people were in bed, they could hear him 
running and jumping out there and hav- 



The Cat and the Catbird 21 1 

ing the finest kind of a time all by him- 
self. During the days he spent most of 
his time on a red lamb's-wool rug under a 
desk where the Lady kept her typewriter. 
He thought the desk must be a Cat- 
house, for the room under it was just 
large enough and just high enough to suit 
him, and there were walls on three sides to 
make it warmer. He did not see why the 
Lady should sit down at it nearly every 
day and thump-thump-thump on the queer- 
looking little machine which she kept up- 
stairs in this house. When she did this 
he had to move farther back on his rug, 
and it bothered him to do so when he 
was sleepy. 

Sometimes, when he had been really 
awakened by the thump-thump-thumping 
of the machine and the ringing of the lit- 
tle bell on it, he would jump up behind it. 
Then he would peep over its top at the 
Lady and chew the paper which stuck out 
in his face until he was gently lifted or 



2 1 2 Dooryard Stories 

pushed away. Sometimes he sat by the 
side of it, and then he would watch the 
little bell ringing until he learned to put 
up one tiny white paw and ring it himself. 
After he had watched and played in this 
way for a while, he would lie on the high 
part of the desk, over where the drawers 
were, and sleep again. Yet he was never 
too sleepy to pat with his paws every 
printed sheet which the Lady took from 
the machine, or to play with every clean 
white one which she fastened into it. He 
liked the white ones the better and did n't 
see why the Lady wanted to mark them all 
up so. Still, he thought it was probably 
her way of playing, so it did n't matter. 

Sometimes, when she seemed tired, the 
Lady would bend over and put her face 
down against his back and call him " her 
little collaborator." He did not know 
what that big word meant. He thought 
it might be something about his tail. 
They were both interested in tales. 



The Cat and the Catbird 213 

When the Lady was writing on her lap 
in the funny way that Ladies sometimes 
have, he would cuddle down under her 
portfolio and sleep. For these things he 
liked her, but she would hardly ever take 
time to play with him. So, when he 
heard the latch-key rattle in the front 
door, he listened, and if it were the Gen- 
tleman's step which he heard, he ran to 
the hall door and waited with his little 
pink nose to the crack until the Gentle- 
man came in. Then what romps they 
would have ! Back and forth from one 
room to another, with balls, spools tied 
onto the most charming strings, and even 
yardsticks and tape-measures, and things 
taken from the Lady's sewing-stand. 

He liked the Maid, too. She was al- 
ways kind to him, although she did shut 
him up one day when he stole a silvery 
little sardine from the table. She would 
not let him have anything but milk to eat 
until he was nearly grown-up. Whenever 



214 Dooryard Stories 

he smelled a roast or a fine juicy steak he 
would beg as hard as he knew how, but 
not one taste did he ever get until he had 
lost all his Kitten-teeth and his Cat-teeth 
were growing in. When he was older 
and knew more about life, he understood 
that this was to keep him from swallowing 
a loose tooth with a mouthful of meat, 
and that Kittens who are given all sorts 
of food are very likely to do this and 
bring on fits. You can just imagine what 
trouble it would make to have a sharp 
tooth get into a Kitten's stomach. 

This was probably the reason, too, why 
Silvertip grew so very large and hand- 
some. At Christmas time he was given 
a red ribbon to wear around his neck, red 
being very becoming to his complexion. 
He did not care very much for the rib- 
bon, though, and went off into a corner 
and scratched at it with his hind feet 
until it came off. Then he chewed it 
into a wet wisp and left it. 



The Cat and the Catbird 2 1 5 

This was Silvertip's life during that first 
winter. Sometimes on sunshiny days he 
sat out on the kitchen porch, and once in 
a while he sunned himself on the broad 
rail of one of the front porches. What- 
ever he wanted he had, except, of course, 
some kinds of food, which he ought not 
to have anyway. Nobody was ever cross 
to him and many people were doing 
things to make him happy. He had yet 
to learn that this could not last forever. 

When spring came he lived more out 
of doors, and followed the Hired Man 
around barn and woodshed. He went 
into the ice-house once, but found that 
too cold. In these places he saw his first 
Mice. He will never forget the very first 
one which he caught. It was just at sup- 
per time and he brought it into the 
kitchen. He could not understand why 
the Maid should scream and act so 
queerly. He thought perhaps she wanted 
it herself* 



216 Dooryard Stories 

Whenever the Mouse wriggled or flirted 
its tail into his eyes he jumped backward. 
It scared him dreadfully, but he would 
not let go. Instead of that he would 
walk backward two or three times around 
the kitchen range. He wanted to lay 
the Mouse down and play with it, only 
he did not know just how to go about it. 
He tried to have the Maid help him, but 
every time he went to lay it at her feet 
she jumped into a chair. At last she 
called for the Lady. Then the Lady 
came out and laughed at both of them. 
How it ended nobody but Silvertip knows, 
for he walked around the kitchen w r ith it 
in his mouth until late in the evening, and 
the next morning there was not a sign of 
it to be found. 

It was this spring, too, that he became 
acquainted with the Catbird. He heard 
a queer Cat-like voice saying " Zeay ! 
Zeay ! " many times, and yet could never 
find the Cat to whom it belonged. " Come 



The Cat and the Catbird 217 

out here!" he would cry. "Come out 
here, and we will make believe fight ! " 
When no Cat came he could n't understand 
it. He had already become acquainted 
with many Cats in the neighborhood, and 
whenever one came to call they made be- 
lieve fight. It was their favorite game. 
They would sit around and glare at each 
other and growl a whole day at a time. 
So Silvertip could not understand a Cat 
who said " Zeay ! " instead of " Meouw ! " 
and would not fight. 

One morning when Silvertip was sitting 
on the back porch, a slender gray bird, 
with black crown, tail, bill, and feet, 
perched on the woodbine over his head 
and said, " Zeay ! " It sounded as though 
somebody in the little apple-tree had said 
it, but Silvertip was looking at the bird 
and saw him open and shut his bill. 

" Pht ! " said Silvertip, as he began to let 
his tail and the hair along his back bristle. 
" Pht ! Don't you dare to mock me ! " 



218 Dooryard Stories 

" Zeay ! " answered the bird. " Zeay ! 
Zeay ! " 

11 I don't say it just that way, anyhow," 
said Silvertip ; " so quit ! M 

" Zeay ! " answered the bird. 

" I am the Cat who belongs here," said 
Silvertip. " You quit mocking me or go 
away ! " 

" Zeay ! " replied the bird, putting his 
head upon one side. " I am the Catbird 
who belongs here. I had a nest here last 
year before you were born, and when I 
went south for the winter you were not 
here. Zeay ! " 

Now Silvertip, not having had a chance 
to learn much about birds, thought that 
this one was not telling the truth, and he 
quite lost his temper. " You deserve to 
be eaten," he cried, and he began to climb 
up the woodbine, feeling his way along 
without taking his eyes from the Catbird. 
The Catbird sat there and twitched his 
tail until Silvertip had almost reached 




YOU DESERVE TO BE EATEN." 



Page 218 



The Cat and the Catbird 219 

him. Then he said, " Zeay ! " and flew 
off. A few minutes later he was sitting 
on the top twig of a fir tree and sing- 
ing wonderfully. This was what he sang : 
" Prut ! Prut ! Coquillicot ! Really ! 
Really ! Coquillicot ! Hey, Coquillicot ! 
Hey ! Victory ! " 

Silvertip walked back and forth on the 
kitchen porch. He was too angry to sit 
down at once. When at last he did, and 
began to wash himself, he was thinking 
all the time how mean the Catbird was. 

Every day the Catbird came and flirted 
around and said, " Zeay ! Zeay ! " till Sil- 
vertip lost his temper. He just ached to 
get his claws into that bird, and that even 
when his stomach was full. He did not 
care so much about eating him, you see, 
although he would undoubtedly have 
done so if he had had the chance, but he 
wanted to stop his teasing. 

One day he was looking out through a 
screen door and happened to see the Cat- 



220 Dooryard Stories 

bird mocking another bird. He was sur- 
prised to hear the other say : " Mock 
away, if it is any fun! It doesn't hurt 
me any." Then he heard the Catbird 
laugh and saw him fly away. 

" I wonder what he would do if I were 
to try that ? " said Silvertip. " I believe I 
will the next time." 

That very day, when Silvertip was sun- 
ning himself on the porch and heard the 
same teasing voice say, " Zeay ! " above 
his head, he opened his thick eyelids and 
slid the other ones about half-way to 
one side, and looked lazily up. " Pretty 
good ! " he said. " You do a little better 
every day I think. If you keep at it you 
can say ' Meouw ' after a while " Then 
he began to shut his eyes again. 

" Prut ! " exclaimed the Catbird. " It 's 
no fun teasing you any more ! You don't 
care enough about it ! Good-by ! " And 
that was the last time that Silvertip ever 
saw him nearer than the top of a tree. So 



The Cat and the Catbird 



221 



Silvertip learned one of the great lessons 
of life, which is not to pay any attention 
to people who make fun of you, or to 
mind when you are teased. 




THE FRIENDLY BLACKBIRDS 



CVER since the year when the first 
L ' pair of Blackbirds nested near the 
big house, there had been some of their 
family in the tall evergreens. One 
could not truly say that the Blackbirds 
were popular. When they first came they 
had a quarrel with a pair of Catbirds 
about a certain building-place, and most 
of the older birds took sides with the 
Catbirds. Nobody knew which couple 
first chose this place, so of course no- 
body knows who was really right, and 
perhaps it might better all be forgotten. 
The Blackbirds were happy there and 
returned the next year with some of their 
children, who courted and married and 
built in other tall evergreens in the same 



222 



The Friendly Blackbirds 223 

yard. After that they were company for 
each other and had little to do with 
Robins, Phoebes, and more quiet neigh- 
bors. They were handsome, bold, loud- 
voiced, teasing, and not at all gentle in their 
ways. Still, that had to be expected of 
their family. Their neighbors should 
have remembered that they were not 
Chipping Sparrows or Humming-birds. 
On the other hand they were neither Blue- 
jays nor Hawks, and it is much better to 
think of a bird's good qualities than of his 
bad ones. 

Now, there were so many that nearly 
every one of the tall evergreens bore a 
Blackbird's nest. These were built near 
the top and close to the trunk of the tree. 
They were carefully woven of different 
things and lined with mud. Unless you 
knew the ways of Blackbirds, you would 
never find out that there was a nest on 
the place. No careful Blackbird, you 
know, will fly straight to his home if any 



224 Dooryard Stories 

one is watching him. He will walk 
around on the lawn in the most careless 
manner possible, until he has the home tree 
between him and you. Then he will slip 
noiselessly in under the low branches and 
make his way to the top by walking around 
and around the trunk, quite as you would 
go up a winding staircase. 

Two married brothers built in near-by 
trees and were much together. Their 
wives were excellent and hard-working 
birds — almost, but not quite, as good-look- 
ing as their husbands. Like them, they 
were all black except the yellow rings 
of their eyes. The only difference was 
that they were smaller and in the sunlight 
did not have the same gleaming green, 
blue, and purple lights on their feathers. 

These two couples were courting at the 
same time, and were usually in the same 
tree, a tall maple. The brothers would 
sit there in the sunshine, facing the wind 
and thinking about their sweethearts. 



The Friendly Blackbirds 225 

Every now and then they would spread 
their wings and tails, ruffle up their feath- 
ers, stand on tiptoe, and squeak in a hoarse 
voice. Their sweethearts were hiding in 
trees near by and crept nearer at each 
squeak. 

Mrs. Wren said she had never heard 
anything like it, and that, much as she 
loved Mr. Wren, if he had made love to 
her in that way she would not have mar- 
ried him. "Think," said she, " of sing- 
ing like a cartwheel in need of oil ! And 
then think of having to listen to that sort 
of thing right along after you are married! " 

" Oh, that part of it will not be so bad,'* 
said an experienced Robin. " They prob- 
ably will not sing so much to their wives." 

" Or if they do sing," said an Oriole 
who was building in an apple-tree across 
the way, "they may go far away from 
wife and home before beginning. Mr. 
Oriole will never sing in our own tree. 
He says he would be seen at once, and 



226 Dooryard Stories 

then our nest would be found. That is 
why he always perches near the big house 
before he begins. You know bright- 
colored birds have to be very particular." 

When the brothers had really won and 
married their sweethearts, they choose to 
build as near to each other as possible, 
and they walked over the lawn together 
as they hunted for Grubs. 

The young wives sat on their eggs and 
chatted happily with each other. The 
eggs were bluish-green, with all sorts of 
queer brown marks. It was very inter- 
esting when they were laying them. No 
two were alike, and then Blackbirds never 
know how many eggs to expect. It is 
not with them as it is with other birds, 
who are sure beforehand of the color and 
sometimes even of the number. 

You can imagine how often the young 
wives visited each others nests, and how 
the one who had only three eggs sat on 
the other nest, just to see how it would 



The Friendly Blackbirds 227 

feel to have five under her. Of course 
this difference meant that the couple 
who lived in the fir-tree would have to 
work much harder than the couple in the 
spruce. Two more mouths take many 
more Grubs, and Mrs. Spruce-tree Black- 
bird, as she was sometimes called, could 
never be sure whether she was glad or 
sorry that she had only three eggs to 
hatch. As it happened, it was well for 
the other family that there were no more. 
When the eight little cousins got safely 
out of their shells and were about as 
large as Humming-birds, the mother of 
the fir-tree brood disappeared. She had 
flown off as usual to find food and nobody 
ever saw her again. At about this time 
her neighbors heard a loud bang and saw 
a red-headed boy pick up something from 
the road. He put it quickly into his 
bag and ran away, for he knew that 
shooting anywhere near the big house 
was forbidden. 



228 Dooryard Stories 

The five motherless nestlings now had 
only one parent to feed them, and he was 
a sadly overworked bird. He did the 
best he could and brought such great 
billfuls of food that it was a wonder he 
did not choke himself. He was up early 
and worked late, yet his five children 
looked thin and forlorn while their three 
little cousins were plump and sturdy. 

At last Mrs. Spruce -tree Blackbird 
could stand it no longer. She heard 
the motherless children crying hungrily 
when her own three were filled with 
Grubs almost to the tips of their bills. 
She paused on the edge of her nest one 
day with a delicious lunch all ready. Her 
own children were ready to swallow what- 
ever she should give them, when she sud- 
denly turned and flew over to the fir-tree. 
"There!" she said, as she tucked food 
down into first one gaping bill and then 
another. " There ! I guess it won't hurt 
my own babies, and I know it won't hurt 



The Friendly Blackbirds 229 

you, if I make them share once in a 
while/' 

She spoke with her mouth full, which 
is bad manners, even in a Blackbird, but 
one could forgive her still more than that 
because of the kind things she was say- 
ing. When her husband came home she 
told him what she had done and asked 
him to help. "Just think of your poor 
brother," she said. " Our own children 
will not suffer, and you know how you 
would feel if you were the one to bring 
up a family alone." He looked at her 
lovingly with his yellow eyes, and sidled 
up close to her on the branch. He was a 
dreadful tease, as all Blackbirds are, but 
he was a kind husband and father. 

" We will do it," said he. " I really 
think our own children have eaten too 
much lately. The eldest one has peeped 
crossly three times this very day." 

" Yes," added Mrs. Blackbird, "I think 
they have been overfed myself. The baby 



230 Dooryard Stories 

slept very poorly last night, and kept me 
awake much of the time by wriggling 
around under me," 

So it was settled, and after that the 
poor brother had help. His five mother- 
less children began to grow fat and sturdy, 
while their cousins were none the worse 
for sharing. Sad to say, however, they 
made a dreadful fuss because their pa- 
rents helped feed their little cousins. 

" Guess those children could get along 
some way," they grumbled. " Mother al- 
ways gives them the best. It is n't fair ! 
We just won't eat if she does that way ! " 

When she brought them more food 
they were sulky and told her to take it to 
the other nest. She looked sharply at 
them and flew away. " Guess she will 
feel sorry when we are starved to death," 
said the three cross nestlings. And when 
their father came to feed them they acted 
in the same way. 

Their parents, being very wise for a 



The Friendly Blackbirds 231 

couple with their first brood, did not urge 
them to eat, or get worried in any way. 
They simply paid no attention to them, 
besides cleaning out the nest once in a 
while. They also kept on helping the 
other family. It made them very sad to 
have their children so foolish and naughty, 
but they tried to remember how young 
they were and to be patient. 

After a while the three cross children 
began to feel very badly. Their stomachs 
had not been really empty since they 
could remember — not until now. For a 
while they talked about getting even with 
their parents. Then they w r ere very still. 
The baby began to cry. " I am so hun- 
gry," said she. And the others cried with 
her. " So are we," they said. 

Their parents flew straight up to the 
nest. There was nobody watching them, 
but they were in such haste that they 
might even have done so if there had 
been. 



232 Dooryard Stories 

" Don't you like to feel hungry?" 
asked their mother. 

" No," sobbed the little Blackbirds. 
" We want you to feed us." 

" What if you had nobody to feed 
you ? " said she. And she never moved 
toward getting them a Grub. 

" B-but we have," they said. "We 
have a father and a mother." 

" Supposing I had been killed," said 
their mother, " don't you think your 
aunt would have helped your father care 
for you ? " 

" Yes, ma'am," answered all three. 

" Then don't you think I ought to help 
feed your cousins ? " said she. 

"Yes, ma'am," was the very meek 
reply. 

" Now," said she, " are you willing I 
should feed your cousins, too ?" 

"Yes, ma'am," said they, and each was 
trying to say it first. " We will be good. 
We won't be cross any more." 



The Friendly Blackbirds 233 

Such a meal as the three little Black- 
birds had then ! It is a wonder that there 
were not three stomach-aches in that nest 
at once. When all had been fed and 
were half asleep under their mothers 
warm breast, the oldest one said to his 
sisters : " It must be dreadful not to have 
enough to eat any of the time. I believe 
I am glad they fed our cousins." 

" We are glad," said the others, and 
then they went to sleep. So the little 
Blackbirds learned their first lesson in un- 
selfishness, and they learned it as larger 
people often have to do, by having a hard 
time themselves. 




APR 24 1903 



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005 498 330 A 



